The Stag and The Dragon
by green.gore
Summary: The high he felt right after the war was gone, and Harry is now left feeling more vulnerable than ever. Despite his obvious misery, Harry decides to handle things on his own, to not much avail, so when help comes from an unexpected friend, he's more than just a little reluctant to accept the peace offering. Rated M for future chapters.
1. I

**A/N: Hi, this is my first fanfic (well, the first I've ever published) and I'd like it very much if you could give me some feedback, be it positive or negative. If you find any errors, or something, do let me know, and I won't make such mistakes ever again... At least I'll try not to. ;-)**

**Anyway, this is set about a month after the war, which sets it around the first week of June. It's not quite canon, not exactly.**

* * *

Harry sat alone in the middle of 12 Grimmauld Place's front parlour, waiting for his friends, Ron and Hermione, to come by. They'd owled the day before to say that they would be bringing a special friend with them who wanted a word with him. He didn't particularly care about who was coming, though. _It'll probably be Luna_, he thought. _Or maybe Neville._

Harry sighed heavily, thinking back to the times he had sat in this very room, and actually been happy. It was when Mrs Weasley got them— namely, Hermione, Harry, and a few of the Weasley siblings— to clear the room of doxies. No, it wasn't easy, but it had been fun, clearing the room with his closest friends, while listening to the comings and goings of the other Order members, most of whom were only living within memories now.

It was a month after the devastating Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry was trying to imagine what could have happened if things had been different. _If there was no battle, and I'd gone to school, I'd probably still be revising what I could for my N.E.W.T.s right now_, he thought to himself bitterly. _Yet, here I sit, in the house of my deceased godfather, thinking of all the lives we lost on that fateful Saturday, trying to accept the fact that somehow, somewhere, things had gone awfully wrong._

Harry leaned forward in his seat, and covered his face with his hands, waiting for the tears that would never come. Ever since the Battle, he'd done his best to keep his emotions in check, locking them away to make sure he never broke down in front of everyone, but when he was alone, he found it hard to keep his feelings restrained. _It was _my _fault they died_, he thought, almost tearfully. _If I hadn't dawdled on my mission, if I'd found all the Horcruxes earlier, if I could have acquired the sword faster…_

There were just too many _if_s. Thinking of all the people he'd failed to save, and the people affected by them… Harry was in a dark place, indeed; but he couldn't cry, couldn't ask for comfort. He didn't deserve comfort; he deserved the guilt and the pain. He was thoroughly convinced that their deaths had been _his _fault. _And it was_, he thought, hating himself in that moment, more than anything.

Surely, if he'd done better in his mission, Fred would still be running his joke shop with his twin, George. But no; he was gone, and he'd never come back, the same way he'd never see his godfather, Sirius Black.

Ah, his godfather, Sirius… If no one else's, then his death was the one he felt most responsible for. _If only I'd learnt Occlumency properly_, he thought morosely, _Sirius would probably still be alive_.

His heart slammed against his ribcage when he thought of Ted Lupin, who was only a little over a year old, the same age Harry had been when his own parents had died. Like him, Ted would never have any real memories of his parents. All he'd ever know about them is that they gave up their lives for the good of the Wizarding World, for him; and Harry Potter had let them die. _If only I was fast enough_, he thought woefully, rocking back and forth slightly, trying to calm himself, trying his hardest not to let his grief take over again.

Luckily, he heard the door to his house open and close and heard Mad-Eye's voice whisper, _"Severus Snape?" _He sighed in relief, straightening up in his seat and plastering a smile on his face. If it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to act like he was happy in front of others.

A minute later, Ron and Hermione walked into the parlour, where Harry still sat on the edge of his seat. The moment he saw them, he got up to greet them, but stopped short when he saw a rather tall, blond-haired guy behind them.

When he saw the blond's face, blood roared in his ears, his eyes flashed darkly, and he whipped out his wand in record time. Seeing what he was doing, Hermione's eyes opened wide, and held up her hands, as she called out to Harry, "Harry, wait! Don't! He's just here to talk!"

Harry lowered his wand infinitesimally, and regarded Malfoy, taking in his light grey eyes, his neat bright blond hair, and finally his arms, which were raised in surrender. "What is there that you could say to me?" he spat at Malfoy, who flinched at the tone of Harry's voice.

"I just wanted to… to say sorry for what I've done," he replied softly, ducking his head, lowering his arms to his sides. "When you were brought to the Manor, and they were forcing me to tell them who you were, I tried my best to feign ignorance; I was trying to _save_ you. I was _trying_ to buy you some time, so you could all escape. I didn't _want_ the Dark Lord to rule. I was rooting for _you!_" At the end of this sentence, Malfoy looked up at him, his grey eyes practically shining with sincerity, instead of with arrogance, as they usually were.

Then Ron said something Harry had never have thought he'd ever say. "Just hear him out, mate," Ron cajoled, looking at him with his blue eyes. "You know I hate the git, but what he says makes sense."

Now that Harry really thought about it, Malfoy _had_ tried his best to protect Harry and his friends back at the manor, without getting himself killed in the process. But Harry couldn't just forget about how Malfoy had tried to kill him and his friends in the Room of Requirement; he still had nightmares of running through a maze, Fiendfyre lapping at his heels, while the screams of his dying friends assaulted his ears.

After a lengthy silence, Harry broke it. "Ron, Hermione… Please join Kreacher in the kitchen, and keep him company," he said quietly. "I want to talk to Malfoy alone." When they'd left for the kitchen, he turned his piercing gaze back to his guest, his wand arm still pointing at him.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't curse you right now," Harry said, still in the same quiet tone. "Just give me _one_ reason why I shouldn't turn in one more Death Eater, to avenge the tragic and unnecessary deaths of my friends and family."

Malfoy held up his hands in front of him again, but this time his eyes flashed a little angrily, as well. "Look, Potter, if I'd come here to harm you, or your precious friends, I'd have my wand out _right now_, but as you can see, it's still safely within my pocket," he said calmly, carefully studying Harry's reactions to his words. "And I didn't kill _anyone_. I didn't kill your parents; I didn't kill Lupin; nor did I kill anyone else for that matter. Dumbledore said that I don't—"

Malfoy stopped abruptly, as if he'd been about to say something he wasn't willing to reveal, and took a deep breath before continuing. "It doesn't matter; but what _does_ matter is that I'm not here to do you, or anyone else, harm, otherwise Granger and Weasley wouldn't have brought me here in the first place," Malfoy proclaimed finally, a slight sneer crossing his face when he said Harry's friends' names.

At this, Harry finally dropped his wand, but his gaze was still just as piercing. "Fine," he snapped. "Apology accepted. Now get out." Harry pointed in roughly the same direction the front door was in, indicating that Malfoy was to leave.

This time, he didn't even bother to hide his anger; he let his emotions play all over his face, and said in a voice quivering with fury, "Potter, I came here to have a proper talk, to give you a proper apology for all that I've said and done since the first time we met in that blasted shop up to _now_. This may be difficult for you to fathom, Potter, but I _do_ actually know how to feel guilt."

When what Malfoy had said didn't get a response, he tried the diplomatic approach. "I just thought that you would let me apologise; you, the only one who was willing to show Wormtail mercy, when he didn't deserve it," he said finally. When Harry looked shocked at how Malfoy knew about letting Wormtail go, Malfoy told him, by way of explaining, "He told the Death Eaters all about his encounters with you.

"So, may I _please_ talk to you?"

After another lengthy silence, Harry gestured to a sofa on the left side of the room. As soon as Malfoy sat down, he followed suit and sat on the chaise opposite his. "So," Harry began. "Talk."

Malfoy started twiddling with his thumbs, looking down at them as he battled himself to a thumb war. Finally, he looked up and said, haltingly, "I… I'm sorry for all the years I tortured you. I'm sorry I almost killed Weasley in our sixth year, however indirectly, and I…" He trailed off again, before clearing his throat, and, continuing in a slightly stronger voice, "I'm sorry for almost killing you, Weasley and Granger in the Room of Requirement."

Malfoy then looked up at Harry, to see his eyes softening a little. He heaved a quiet sigh of relief at the sight. "You know," he began softly, "with my father now under observation for crimes against the Ministry and high treason, there really is no use pretending anymore."

"Why just observation? Why not a proper trial?" Harry asked, mildly curious.

Malfoy answered simply, "Because we changed sides, at the end. The Ministry knows that."

After seeing Harry's eyes softening even further, Malfoy became a little braver, and said something he'd never have dared to before. "Friends?" he asked tentatively, looking closely at Harry's face for some sort of reaction.

Harry squinted at him, and asked in a voice filled with suspicion, "Why would _you_, a respected _pureblood_, want to be friends with a _half-blood_ like me?"

To Malfoy's credit, he _did_ look rather abashed. "Though I grew up being taught the importance of blood status, I never cared much for it," he admitted a little indignantly, not looking at Harry directly. "I just kept up the pretence."

He looked up at Harry then, and continued, "I'm a Slytherin; if I didn't pretend to care about blood purity, I would have been cursed in my sleep."

"And being my friend now _wouldn't_ result in you getting hexed?" Harry asked. "Do explain this one to me, Malfoy; I must say you've gotten my curiosity piqued."

Malfoy bristled but chose to ignore Harry's sarcasm. "Ever since the war ended," he began, "I've stopped caring about keeping up appearances, whether I believe in them or not. I don't care about blood status any more than you do, Potter; believe me."

"And you think that being friends with me will earn you points with your other fellow Slytherins?" Harry said snidely.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed a little. "Not at all," he said a little huffily. "I couldn't care any less about what they think, not anymore. I told you; I've stopped worrying about keeping up appearances.

"Now I'm free to be the person I've always longed to be," he continued, now a small smile on his face. "And if the Slytherins can't accept that, then they can sod off."

Harry snorted. "So what you're trying to tell me is that all those times you made fun of Hermione, calling her a Mudblood, you didn't actually mean it?" he said disbelievingly, leaning back in his chaise, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well… yes."

But now Harry was on a roll. "And all those times you made fun of me, tortured me, ridiculed me… that was just because you were a Slytherin, and you were obligated to otherwise you'd have been cursed?" he bit out harshly, the dark light returning to his green eyes. "And the time you almost killed my friends and I in the Room of Requirement? What forced you to do it then; your concern for your well-being, or was it just because you ruddy well wanted me dead?"

He took a deep breath, and prompted in a much softer voice, almost as silky as Voldemort's had been when he was at his most dangerous, "Or was it both?" When Malfoy didn't answer right away, Harry screamed, "Answer me, Malfoy!"

Malfoy's lips were pinched in a tight line, as if he were trying to control himself from saying something, but then Harry saw that his eyes had also filled with tears. _Are those… are those real tears? _he thought, disbelief flooding through him.

"Please answer," Harry implored softly, this time his voice void of the underlying threat of throttling him, thinking about how it was his tone that was making Malfoy cry this time. Harry knew, the moment his voice took on the same tone as Voldemort's, that Malfoy knew it well, and dreaded it. The thought that only he and the Dark Lord were able to make him tearful almost made Harry sick to his stomach.

"I… I didn't actually mean to bully you," Malfoy started hesitatingly, his eyes downcast. "It's just that… that first day, on the train, when I offered to be your friend, I got mad when you rejected me.

"All those times I made fun of you, I was just… jealous, not to mention angry. You were the famous Boy Who Lived, and I was jealous that you wanted to be Ron's friend instead of mine, when you knew him about as well as you knew me; ergo, not at all," he admitted a little grudgingly, his eyes still cast downwards, not willing to meet Harry's.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, you were being a git; of _course_ I didn't want to be your friend," he said snappishly, to which Malfoy finally lifted his eyes to Harry's, his mouth open in shock. But before Malfoy could respond to the well-deserved insult, Harry continued, "With that said, I must say that I _am_ sincerely sorry I didn't accept your offer of friendship.

"But you didn't answer my other question; what of the Room of Requirement incident? If you didn't want me dead at the Manor, what changed your mind when you saw me in Hogwarts?"

Malfoy was quiet for a while, trying to think of a way to phrase himself. Finally, he just said simply, his voice not cracking at all, despite his nervous demeanour, "I didn't want you dead then, either."

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "Could've fooled me," he grumbled, not really directing this at Malfoy. However, he heard what Harry said, and an amused smirk crossed his face. After a moment had passed, he turned serious again.

"I wasn't joking," Malfoy said, now all trace of humour on his face wiped clean. "It really wasn't my intention to kill you; in fact, I was trying to keep you _alive_." At this, Harry's eyebrows shot up so far, they almost reached his hairline.

He opened his mouth to argue, but Malfoy held up his hand to stop him saying anything so he could continue. "If you remember correctly, it was Crabbe who wanted you dead. _He _was the one who directed the Killing Curse at Granger, the Cruciatus Curse at you, and it was _Crabbe_ who used that spell to try and crush Weasley with all that old junk in the Room of Lost Things," he asserted, trying his best to try and convince Harry he was telling the truth. And then he added, quietly, "And it was Crabbe who started the Fiendfyre, not me."

After he was done speaking, Harry leaned back in his chaise, trying to digest what he'd been told. _Was it true, then_? he asked himself. _Could it be that, in his own way, Malfoy had tried his best to protect Ron, Hermione and I those times we had met before the Battle_?

Suddenly, it occurred to Harry whom Malfoy reminded him of, almost exactly. "Severus Snape," he blurted out, after which he blushed when Malfoy gave him a curious look. "Snape did and said many things, all of which were horrid, but only did them to protect those he considered friends."

Harry looked up at the boy sitting opposite, and said, quite slowly, as if trying to see whether there was a bitter taste to his words, "I accept your offer."

Malfoy looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "What are you on about, Potter? You're not making any bloody sense. First, you blurt out Severus Snape's name, compare us— at least I _assume_ so— and then you say you're accepting my offer," Malfoy burst out, sounding quite infuriated and haughty. Harry pressed his lips together, to stop from chuckling. He found it hilarious that Malfoy could revert back to sounding almost exactly like how he used to so abruptly. Not to mention that what he said was actually true. "What exactly are you accepting?"

Harry laughed. He just couldn't hold it in anymore. Even Malfoy's mouth twitched, though he worked hard to keep his frown on his face. In the end, he lost, and a small, grudging smile replaced the frown.

"Your offer of friendship," Harry managed at last, once his laughter had died down. This time, a proper smile crossed Malfoy's face.

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**So... how do you like it so far? Would you like for me to upload chapter two? Do you think there are some things I should improve on? Or maybe you think I missed out some key Harry Potter details? Let me know in the 'Reviews' section. Thanks for taking the time to read this. :-)**


	2. II

**A/N: I'm at college right now, and I'm bored silly, so I thought I'd upload the second chapter to this fic. I hope you enjoy it! (because I won't upload the next chapter till next week, probably. ;-] )**

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The summer passed rather slowly. Harry wished it'd hurry up. He wanted nothing more than to be back at Hogwarts for his seventh year, the one he'd missed while he was out hunting Horcruxes. Though Kingsley, who was still Minister of Magic, offered to make him, and anyone else who'd participated in the Battle, an Auror, he'd refused, mostly because he felt he didn't even know enough to pass his N.E.W.T.s, much less become a Junior Auror. Luckily for him, Hermione and Ron shared his sentiments, both of whom were hoping to go back to Hogwarts, as well.

The only things he counted on to help him pass the time were his friends' frequent visits, Malfoy included. _Malfoy_, he thought to himself, _turned out to be a much more humane person than I thought, though Ron and Hermione don't seem to think so_. Despite being the ones bringing Malfoy to him, Ron and Hermione were still very wary of the former Death Eater. Harry thought that it went without saying that Ron still hated the Malfoy family with a passion, just because they were the ones who'd started vicious rumours about his dad.

But his friends weren't the only ones visiting him; he'd visit them too. Not Malfoy, though; the thought of stepping back into Malfoy Manor scared him more than the thought of the duel he'd had with Voldemort.

Partway through the summer, Harry broke the Fidelius Charm protecting the House of Black, with the help of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was a bit worried about how Yaxley had been brought to the house by accident. Contrary to what others believed, Yaxley was alive and well, and on the run from Aurors; he knew that, because Kingsley had accidentally let that bit of information slip. So, together with Kingsley, they cast the Fidelius Charm on 12 Grimmauld Place again, and made Hermione his Secret-Keeper. Ron figured that she'd be the most logical choice, since she was so precise in everything she did; she'd never tell others where Harry's house was, minus the time she'd accidentally brought Yaxley to the doorstep.

Kingsley also helped remove the safety precautions Alastor Moody had placed in the front hall. He was getting heartily sick of hearing his voice hissing, "_Severus Snape_?" every time someone came through the door.

Midway through June, Ginny paid him a visit, and they went on to have a very lengthy discussion on how they stood with each other, now that the Battle was over. At first it was civilised, but gradually increased to a row. At least, it did for Ginny, who was doing a bad job of staying calm as Harry tried telling her that he cared for her, more than she knew, but knew it was better that they go their separate ways.

At this, Ginny screamed at him, calling him a bloody sodding blighter, and threw a dusty tome entitled _The Dark Arts_ at his head. Luckily, she missed. After she realised that she'd missed his head, she stomped her foot on his in frustration, and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her, but not before yelling at him to never come back to The Burrow.

After she left, he collapsed onto a nearby chair, trying to ignore the throbbing in his foot and covered his face with his hand, wishing he could just disappear. Not long after settling into the chair, he heard a _tap-tap-tap_ on the window behind him. He turned around and saw a handsome barn owl outside, flapping its wings to keep level with his window.

When he let the owl in, it dropped a letter onto a side table and flew back out the window. He picked up the letter, and on it, it read 'Mr Harry Potter, [Undisclosed Location], London'. Opening it, he saw that it was a letter, inviting him back to Hogwarts for his final year, and to owl them back if he chose to accept.

Enclosed, McGonagall had also put in a badge, and written, in her own handwriting, '_Only if you want to_'. He smiled slightly, looking at the Team Captain badge. He wondered idly whether he really wanted to play Quidditch this year, but decided he'd think about it later, and turned his attention back to the enclosed list of school supplies.

After reading through the list of things he'd need, he realised he needed to visit Diagon Alley for fresh supplies; he'd left whatever he didn't need back at the Dursleys' former home, right before he went on his hunt for Horcruxes. Not to mention that he had to get an owl, to send a letter back to Hogwarts. His heart pinched when he thought of the prospect of getting a new owl; it felt like an insult to Hedwig's memory.

He thought of asking Ron and Hermione to come with him to Diagon Alley, so that they could all buy their supplies together, but then thought better of it when he realised that Ron would invite Ginny. _I am _not _going to be hit by a book when I visit Flourish and Blotts_, he decided, mentally rubbing his head, imagining that Ginny had hit him over the head with a copy of _Advanced Potion Making_.

Just as he was thinking this, he heard a knock on his front door, downstairs. "Kreacher!" he called. His old, yet sturdy house-elf Apparated into the room.

Kreacher bowed low, his bulbous nose almost in contact with the heavily carpeted floor. As he straightened up, he croaked out, "Yes, Master?"

"Be a sweetheart, and please get the door," he bid the house-elf kindly. "But do let me know who it is, before you bring our guest into this room." With that, he dismissed Kreacher. Almost immediately, he left to get the door. He distinctly heard the door open and close and thought he also heard a familiar voice. _From this far, I can't be too sure it's him_, he thought dismissively, and went back to looking through his book list.

Not a minute later, Kreacher Apparated in front of him. "It is Master Malfoy, sir, here to see you," he announced. _I don't give my hearing enough credit_, he scoffed at himself. But he was glad that Malfoy was there; his timing was most opportune.

"Fetch him, please, Kreacher, and bring him here." Kreacher bowed again, and left to get Malfoy. Another minute passed before Malfoy stood before him. Harry looked up at his new friend, and smiled, feeling weird at first at how he was genuinely pleased to see him.

Harry stood up, holding out his hand by way of greeting. "Malfoy, what a surprise," he drawled in what he thought was a perfect imitation of his guest's usual speaking style. The corners of Malfoy's lips turned up in the slightest of smiles, when he realised that he was taking the mick out of him.

But he let it slide; he was in too much of a good mood to let things like that affect him. "Did you get a letter from Hogwarts, inviting you to come back?" he asked, ignoring what Harry had said, but taking his hand in a firm handshake. "I got mine about half an hour ago.

"Last year's school terms were utter pants, they were. The Carrows were so thick; none of us actually learned anything. But I played along with them, like the good Death Eater I was," he drawled sarcastically. Then he added, almost cheekily, "It was a huge pain in the arse."

It was a moment before Harry caught on to what he said, and when he did, he started laughing. Harry didn't know when, but Malfoy soon joined in, laughing almost as hard. By the time Harry got control over himself, he found his face was streaked with tears of mirth, and that they'd both grabbed each other's shoulders for support. They quickly let go of each other, both their cheeks flushing with colour.

Harry cleared his throat noisily. "Yes, I got a letter from Hogwarts," Harry choked out at last, his voice still hoarse from laughing. "I was actually going to nip over to Diagon Alley to get some supplies. 'Fraid the war made me abandon most of my old stuff." Though his tone was light, his eyes became just a little sharper, at the mention of the war.

Failing to see the change in Harry's eyes, Malfoy sneered, "Not going to bring the Weasels and Granger with you? I'm shocked; one would think that you were all sewn together at the hip by a spell gone wrong."

"No," Harry answered abruptly, before he could stop himself. But then he caught himself, and clarified in a much softer tone, "No, I don't think so."

Harry knew Malfoy was itching to ask him what was wrong; he saw that much on his face, before Malfoy changed his expression to careful nonchalance. But he held his tongue, which Harry thought was most wise; it was an odd trait for a Malfoy.

Pretending that he hadn't just made an arse of himself, Malfoy asked, offhandedly, "So what is it that you want to get?"

Harry thought for a moment, considering. He wanted a lot of things. He wanted a new broom, to replace the one he'd lost when he was being brought to the Burrow. And he wanted an owl. But not just any broom or owl; he wanted the Firebolt his godfather, Sirius Black, had given him; the one he'd undoubtedly emptied his Gringotts vault for. And, more than anything, he wanted Hedwig. At the mere thought of Hedwig, Harry was brought back to the time when he'd lost both of his prized possessions, because of those bloody Death Eaters. A brief look of pain crossed his face, before his features became expressionless again.

"School supplies, and probably some other stuff," he answered carefully, hoping Malfoy wouldn't ask what the other stuff was.

"Have you owled them back yet?" Malfoy asked instead, striding over to a chair. He settled in it and picked up the nearest book, which was entitled _The Dark Arts_, the same one that Ginny had aimed at his head. "My, my, Potter; I had no idea you were interested in the Dark Arts. What would other good Wizarding folk think?" Malfoy sniggered, while simultaneously opening the book.

"No, I've not owled them back. I haven't an owl," he replied stiffly, ignoring Malfoy's jibe.

Malfoy looked up at this, and said, with a sneer on his face, "What, that white owl of yours not fancy enough for you anymore? Just threw her aside, did you, Potter?"

He knew he'd said the wrong thing when Harry's eyes got that squinty look it did when he was really angry. "No, Malfoy," he murmured, his tone belying the fact that he was angry. "Hedwig's dead, thanks for asking." But the shattering of glass betrayed Harry's tone of voice. They looked in the direction of the window, and saw that, in his anger, Harry had accidentally broken the window. He picked up his wand and, almost lazily, waved his wand at it, instantly repairing the damage.

They shared a moment of silence, Malfoy trying his best, and failing, to say something witty. "I'm sorry," he apologised finally, putting down the book he'd been going through. Then he stood up and stretched, and pretended that he hadn't, yet again, stepped on Harry's toes.

"C'mon, let's go," Malfoy ordered, businesslike. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back and have Kreacher serve us dinner."

Harry didn't miss the insinuation that Malfoy would be staying for dinner, nor did he miss the fact that he avoided asking about what happened to Hedwig. He then led the way to the door, and Harry followed mutely behind. But before he left, Harry asked Kreacher, politely, to prepare dinner for both him and Malfoy, by seven. Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry's politeness towards the elf, but didn't comment on it.

When they Apparated into the Leaky Cauldron, Tom, the landlord came up to them, and bowed slightly, asking, "Would you like anything, Mr Potter?" Malfoy was insulted that the landlord had only spoken to Harry, and not to him, as well. Harry noticed that he was clenching his fists and glaring daggers at Tom for ignoring him so blatantly.

Harry ignored Malfoy, as well, and smiled at Tom, and answered, sounding as polite as he'd been to Kreacher, "No, that's alright, Tom. We're just here to get a few things in Diagon Alley."

Harry and Malfoy continued on their way, walking side by side, to the entrance to Diagon Alley. But before Harry could tap the bricks the same way Hagrid had done all those years ago, Malfoy turned to him, and said quietly, "You're lucky you're not a Death Eater."

He had no time to decipher his cryptic meaning before Malfoy tapped the bricks himself, opening an archway into the famed Shopping District for wizards and witches.

In the end, Harry had to buy a rucksack to carry all of his things. After he'd stuffed all of his purchases inside, Malfoy asked, disbelief clear in his voice, "How in the world did you manage to fit all of that in?"

Harry chuckled, amused that Malfoy didn't know, but then almost immediately became sombre again. "Undetectable Extension Charm," he answered, shrugging slightly. "Hermione taught me how to cast it last year."

Instead of responding to what Harry said, Malfoy changed the subject and asked, "So what else is on the list?"

Harry shrugged again, and responded, "I need an owl."

Without saying another word, they walked to Eeylops Owl Emporium. But before they entered, Malfoy told Harry, "I truly am sorry about Hedwig, Harry; I didn't mean to make you angry earlier."

Again, Malfoy left a rather dumbstruck Harry behind. When Harry joined him in the shop, he was struck by how odd the place looked; there were owls in cages hanging from the ceilings, and piles and piles of sacks, containing what he assumed was bird feed, lining the walls and filling up almost all the available floor space. _It's a wonder how the owner managed to fit in a counter for himself_, he thought, mystified.

Not long after entering the shop, they were accosted by the bubbly man who ran the shop, Frank Guillspert. He asked them about their preferences; Tawny or Screech; Barn or Brown; and then he started offering them owls at discounted prices, special for the Boy Who—

"With all due respect, sir, the owls we have in mind are not the ones on display," Malfoy interrupted. The shopkeeper looked a bit abashed when he realised he'd more or less been suffocating his customers.

"Of course, Mr Malfoy, forgive me. So will it be the same owls your father had you pick from in your first year?" Mr Guillspert asked, looking at Malfoy now. He merely nodded at the shopkeeper's question, and then they were whisked away to the back of the shop, to a door Harry had never noticed before.

All three of them then walked through the door, out into a large courtyard with a huge aviary right in the middle. Harry gaped at the huge, see-through building. Its steeply-sloped roof comprised of darkly coloured shingles, and the building itself was at least three storeys tall. It had walkways lining the inner rim of the first and second floor, and criss-crossing through the centre of the slightly translucent building.

But what caught his breath was the number of owls, and other birds he saw. He saw all the owls that Mr Guillspert had mentioned earlier, but he saw more than a dozen other types of birds flying around, and perching themselves on the tree, which grew right in the middle of the aviary.

They walked towards the door, but before Mr Guillspert opened it, he turned to Malfoy and Harry and asked, with a proud smile on his face, "Beautiful, aren't they? Incredibly smart too, mind."

In respect to Hedwig, Harry refrained himself from choosing another Snowy Owl, but instead started looking at the Eurasian Eagle-Owl. It reminded him vaguely of Hedwig, but was different enough not to cause any painful memories to flood his mind.

Walking back to the shop with his new owl perched obediently on his shoulder, Harry was secretly very proud of himself; he didn't think he'd be able to look at another owl, let alone choose one, without bawling.

Reaching the till, Harry asked the cashier, "So how much for him?" He then took out his pouch of Galleons, ready to pay.

"Hmm," Mr Guillspert mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "That's a good one you've got there, Mr Potter; not too sure I could give him to you for anything less than a hundred Galleons." He raised his eyebrow at Harry, waiting for his reaction.

Harry spluttered a little, eyes widening at the price. _That's almost five hundred pounds!_ he realised, his mind doing some quick math. But before he could respond, Malfoy cut in smoothly and saved Harry from looking like a complete bleeder.

"Here," Malfoy offered, holding out a pile of gold Galleons towards the shopkeeper, who took them and started counting. At this, Harry felt more than just a little bit insulted. _What, does Malfoy think I'm too poor to afford the owl?_

Harry pulled Malfoy aside, while the shopkeeper was busy counting the Galleons, and whispered hotly, "I can pay for him myself! Despite what you think, I'm not exactly _poor_." He spat the last word, looking into Malfoy's face. He reared back, assessing Harry's anger, with the most astonished look on his face Harry had ever seen. If he hadn't been so angry, he'd have laughed.

But then Malfoy got over his shock, and started speaking as soothingly as he could. "It's nothing like that, Potter," he reassured Harry. "Just consider it a… an apology from me, on behalf of the Death Eater who killed Hedwig." He said the last part so quietly that Harry thought he'd misheard him.

_How did he know a Death Eater had killed Hedwig?_ he wondered, but he didn't ask. Instead, he apologised, in a much more normal voice, "I'm sorry; I just thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong," Malfoy quipped, a slight smirk on his handsome features. "Now, tell me; would you like a cage to go along with that owl? He's very well-trained so you won't need to worry about him flying away, but a cage is much more appropriate for bringing him around, is it not?"

Harry nodded mutely, smiling gratefully at Malfoy, who, again, refused to let Harry pay, not even for the cage.

By the time they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, it was almost dinnertime. But since they had time to spare, Harry managed to convince Malfoy to come along with him to Quality Quidditch Supplies, the shop any sane Quidditch player would go to for quality broomsticks, or even a set of Quidditch balls, complete with bats, for the Bludgers.

Staring at the broomstick on display, Harry was unsurprised to see that the Firebolt that had been on display was now replaced with a brand new broomstick model, the Sonic Boom. Though he drooled at the thought of owning one, even just looking at it made him feel extremely guilty for losing the most valuable gift he'd ever been given, besides his father's invisibility cloak.

Malfoy pulled at his arm. "C'mon, let's go in," he urged, breaking into Harry's morose thoughts. "No point going to this store, without actually going in, is there?"

So at Malfoy's insistence, Harry browsed the store, splitting up from him, immediately getting lost amongst the aisles, positively brimming with top-of-the-line Quidditch supplies. He passed by Golden Snitches, locked in their own personal cases, bats, a clothes rack where Quidditch robes hung onto every available space, and so much more; he felt a little bit overwhelmed.

He was peacefully looking at a pair of gloves, thinking that he may buy them to replace the ratty pair he'd been using since he was eleven, when he heard his name being called out, by an unfamiliar voice.

A fairly attractive teenaged girl ran up to him, and stood before him, panting before she spoke. "Harry… Potter," she gasped out, bracing one of her hands on her thighs while extending the other to shake Harry's hand. "My name's… Erin O'Neil. I was just wondering…" She broke off to draw a ragged breath, but before she could go on, and completely tire herself, Harry conjured a glass, and filled it with water, trying to ignore the memory of the last time he'd tried to do this for someone who needed water.

He thrust the glass at her and forced her to drink it. Once she'd gulped down the whole thing, she took another breath, and said, in a much clearer voice, "Thanks. I really needed that." Then she smiled at him, and Harry decided that he really liked her smile. "My father was the one who'd spotted you earlier, but he sent me to you to ask you something."

Harry's eyes filled with confusion. "Your… father?" he repeated haltingly.

Erin slapped her forehead. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologised, blushing slightly. "I forgot to mention that my father _owns_ this store." But the confusion in Harry's eyes still did not disappear. If anything, he looked more confused than ever.

"Okay, so… what does your father want to ask me?" Harry asked a little hesitantly.

She smiled at him brightly, and again, Harry found himself thinking that he liked her smile. "Come with me," she grinned. Before he could command his legs to move, she grabbed his arm and dragged him along behind her. She navigated them through the maze of aisles, and after what seemed like forever, he stood before a fairly muscular man with a thin moustache.

She pushed him towards her father, and gave him an encouraging smile. He turned towards Erin's father, and smiled politely. "Hello, sir. Your daughter—" he gestured at Erin "— told me that you wanted to ask me something."

"Indeed I do, m'boy," he agreed. "See, I saw you outside with your friend, admiring our new broom, the Sonic Boom.

"So when you two came in, your friend, Mr Malfoy, sought me out, and told me about how you'd been salivating, just looking at it; and, m'boy, I have to agree there," he added in a little cheekily, winking. "So since you can appreciate such fine workmanship, I'm giving you one; fresh off the production line. Interested?"

_Did Malfoy just given me _another _gift?_ he wondered in disbelief. _What's he on about?_

Mr O'Neil sensed his hesitation, so he leaned in closer to Harry to whisper into his ear, "To be quite honest, I'd still give it to you, even if your friend didn't suggest it. You _did_ save the Wizarding World, boy. Not once, but _twice_ now, and I just want to show my appreciation. So, please, take it; it'd be an insult not to." Harry wasn't sure why, but the mere mention of the war made his heart clench harder than ever before, and the thought of taking a broom like the Sonic Boom made him feel like a fraud. _I don't deserve it!_ he screamed internally. _I let my friends die for me; I don't deserve your gratitude._

Thinking that Harry's pause for thought was still an act of hesitation, which wasn't too far-fetched, Erin's father went on to say, "And I heard you'll be Captain of your Quidditch team this year, Potter, and a Seeker, at that! I'd be mighty proud to know that it was a broom from my store that helped you on your way to the Snitch." He wasn't too sure what made him agree to take it— maybe it was just the selfish desire to fly once again, like he used to in more carefree times— but doing so made Erin and her father both smile at him gratefully, as if he'd never made a mistake in the war, never let his friends die.

He left the store hastily, making sure Erin, who'd stayed behind to say goodbye properly, didn't see the haunted expression cross his face while he was thinking of The Ones That Died. So, leaving the store with his new pair of gloves, and his Sonic Boom, Harry waited patiently for Malfoy to come out, trying to keep the depressive thoughts at bay.

Harry nearly jumped into the air when he felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind. He whirled around to see Malfoy, with a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Took the broom, did you?" he mocked, looking at Harry's new broom from out of the corner of his eye. He let out a small chuckle. "I should've known you'd take it; after all, the Boy Who Lived _must_ have the best."

Harry glared at Malfoy, and he felt something in himself snap. "You're such a prat, Malfoy," he sneered. He turned around and walked away, in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, not bothering to look to see if Malfoy was following. Unfortunately, he was.

"I can't believe I thought you were decent," Harry scoffed. "I can't believe I tried to get over hating you, and start liking you; to start treating you like an actual friend." He snorted in disgust, and walked even faster to get away from Malfoy.

"Hey!" Malfoy called out, grabbing Harry's shoulder again. He violently jerked away from Malfoy's grip. "I was just _kidding_, Potter. Geez. Can't I have a sense of humour?"

Harry stopped walking suddenly, and turned to Malfoy, who'd stopped too. "Look," he snarled, prodding Malfoy's chest with the tip of his finger, "your 'sense of humour', which isn't even witty, by the way, is the reason we've never been friends. So either you get a new sense of humour and discard the one you've got now, or you can just sod off."

Malfoy held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "You make a fairly good point. No more insensitive jokes."

Harry stared at Malfoy a moment and then said, gruffly, "Let's just go. Kreacher's probably done with dinner now." With that, they made their way back to Grimmauld Place in awkward silence.

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**Please review (if you'd like to make me happy :-D). Thanks for reading!**


	3. III

**I hope you've all enjoyed the story so far :-) There will be _no _err... _sexual _scenes until much later, so for those of you who were looking forward to a fast-paced relationship (or something) then I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait. :-)**

**Anyway, thanks for the reviews and the follows, they made my day! Which is saying a lot because I've had the worst day to date. I mean, like, seriously, the _worst_. Apparently, where I come from, speaking English is a sin. Yes, you read right; a f*cking _sin_. I'm just so angry that they choose to discriminate against me _just because_ I'm different. Bloody hell $! #%#$ $! #! UGH.**

**I know I said that I wouldn't update for a few days more, but I couldn't wait. When I'm upset, I turn to writing; in this case, just proofreading, since I wrote this chapter a little while ago.**

**So, all you people out there, please leave reviews, because they'll make me feel soooooo much better. :-)**

* * *

By the time they'd finished dinner, they decided to go into the parlour, where a nice low fire was burning cheerily behind the grate. They both sat close together on the floor, going through Harry's purchases. By then, the tension that was between them had gone, and they were chatting animatedly and laughing again, sitting on the floor, with Harry's books, quills and parchment scattered all over the floor around them.

"I see you bought yourself a new pair of gloves," Malfoy observed, looking at the gloves in his hands. "I guess your old pair just won't cut it this year would it, what with you becoming Gryffindor's Quidditch Caption again."

"How'd you know?"

Malfoy shrugged, and smiled broadly. "You left the badge on the side table."

"Oh." _So that's how Erin's father knew_, he thought.

Silence.

Harry looked at Malfoy from out of the corner of his eye. He was now going through the piles of things on the floor again, oblivious to the stare he was being given. The more he stared, the more he noticed Malfoy's mannerisms; how he'd occasionally tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, or how he'd unconsciously bite on his knuckle when he read, with his eyes narrowed in concentration…

In fact, he noticed a lot of things about Malfoy; he noticed, and secretly admired, his well-defined muscles, which were quite noticeable underneath his fitted shirt. He also noticed how soft and silky his fair blond hair looked. But it was his eyes that had Harry transfixed so; his beautiful grey eyes were so expressive, when his face wasn't. It was because of that reason that Harry tolerated Malfoy, especially when he said something nasty. One look into his eyes, and Harry knew that Malfoy hadn't, at all, meant what he said.

Harry still remembered the day he'd come through the door, and apologised to him for treating him so badly at school. He remembered how his eyes had swum with unshed tears, how much they looked like the sea during a storm. Harry broke off his gaze and looked down. He didn't know why he was thinking the things he did; all he knew was that if he didn't tread carefully, his newfound friendship would crumble before his very eyes.

But despite knowing the risks of being with him too often, Harry mainly did it for his own selfish reasons; Malfoy kept the nightmares and the bad thoughts at bay… most of the time. Though Ron and Hermione were his best friends, their presence never did anything to dispel his horrific memories, or cease his depressive thoughts.

As near as he could guess it, Malfoy's presence was just soothing. He was nearly always calm, never really did or said anything out of order—though stopping himself from mocking Harry every now and then proved a hard habit to break— nor did he ever bring up the war. Whether the latter was because he was barely even involved or not, Harry didn't know, but he didn't care either way.

What scared him, though, was the fact that Malfoy had, unknowingly, seized power over him. _What would happen if he suddenly decides he doesn't want a 'bleeding' Gryffindor as a friend?_ he wondered. And then he shuddered, thinking about how it'd be to go back to Hogwarts, with a Slytherin as a friend. Though he didn't have many qualms about their difference in Houses, it'd still be awkward to have everyone staring at them, wondering at their new companionship. The worst ones would probably be the Slytherins; none of them ever really liked him, and it was worse now because he'd helped put some of their parents in Azkaban for supporting the Dark Lord.

He was shocked out of his thoughts when Malfoy caught his attention, by placing a hand on his knee. "Are you alright?" he inquired, looking quite concerned. "You didn't hear me calling your name, and you had this really blank look on your face. Knut for your thoughts?"

Harry smiled in amusement. "Make it a Galleon, and we've got a deal," he countered.

"Ah, you drive a hard bargain, Potter; but mark my words, you'll come back for my Knuts someday," Malfoy shot back, but then his eyes opened wide when he realised what he'd said, and immediately began to backtrack. "I meant _Knuts_ as in money, not _nuts_ as in… well, you know."

Harry laughed at Malfoy's unintended innuendo, but couldn't help feeling a blaze of desire beginning in the pit of his stomach, thinking about how it'd feel if Malfoy _had_ meant it the way it had come out.

_Where'd _that _come from? _he asked himself.

But he had no time to dwell on his confusing, albeit pleasurable, thoughts when he saw the fire, which was giving off a warm glow, form an image, right in the middle of the flames. He looked towards it, and was surprised by what he saw.

"Ron?"

Finally, the image of Ron's face in the fire turned towards Harry. He wasn't too sure whether it was the fire that made him look that way or not, but Ron looked right mad.

"I heard Ginny visited you today," he began, turning his eyes, and staring right into Harry's. He felt a chill go down his back, and groaned inwardly. _Oh, here we go_, he thought, feeling defeated. _Should've known Ron would find out eventually._

"I tried contacting your fireplace this afternoon, but Kreacher said you were out," he continued. "And I wanted to say to you then, what I will say now; despite what Ginny said, you _can_ come back to The Burrow, eventually—" Harry breathed a sigh of relief at this "— but might I suggest that you _stay away_ from my sister."

Harry stared helplessly at his friend, oblivious to the fact that Malfoy was keeping unusually quiet, and listening to every word that was said. "You don't understand, Ron," he began, with a note of desperation in his voice.

"Yeah?" he interjected, glaring daggers at Harry. "Then try to explain, Potter; I'm not as daft as all that."

Harry hesitated, before saying anything. "It… things just didn't feel right between us," he answered haltingly. "I was falling into the same trap most others fell into, because they thought the Dark Lord would come into power."

"And what _trap_ was that, Harry? Was it called commitment?" he asked bitingly.

"No!" he protested vehemently. "It wasn't that at all, Ron, you have to believe me."

"Then do as I asked you to earlier, Potter, and _explain_," he snapped.

Harry sighed. _This'll be a while_, he thought, tiredly. "Do you remember what your mum said about Bill and Fleur's decision to get married?"

"No," Ron replied stiffly. "Be a dear, and run it by me again, would you?"

Harry bristled, but didn't react to his sarcasm. "Your mum said that the reason why they, and almost every other couple, apparently, were rushing into marriage was because they were scared that they wouldn't live long enough to see the day."

Ron paused. "So, what, dating my sister was just something to cross off your list of things to do before you die?"

He gaped at his friend, refusing to believe what he'd just heard. "Of course not!" he denied indignantly. "Ginny means more to me than that; though, yes, our relationship wasn't exactly well thought out, but… blimey, I didn't date her just because she was there! I dated her because … because sometimes, the fear of dying makes you want to do things, without really thinking them through.

"It makes you reckless," he continued softly, averting Ron's accusing glare.

Ron took some time to digest what Harry had said. "That's all well and good, Potter," he began sarcastically, "but I seriously _doubt_ you didn't date her just because she was there.

"I mean… look at Cho! She was all blubbery and depressed over Cedric; and who was there to be her shoulder to cry on? _You!_" he accused. "And who was the one who swooped in on my sister, right after she'd broken up with Dean, when she was still in her mourning period? _You_. You seem to have a terrible habit of taking advantage of poor, vulnerable girls, don't you, Potter? What, does watching them cry get you off?"

Harry felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. He wanted to scream and yell at Ron for being so unfair, but a small part of him understood where all this was coming from. "Look, Ron," he sighed. "I didn't date Cho just because I wanted to be her hero; in case you forgot, she's the one who kissed me first. It just seemed wrong not to ask her out right after. And as for your sister… I don't know, mate; I was just…" He trailed off, trying to think of a way to explain.

"I was just jealous when I saw her with Michael and Dean," he admitted. "Never did I think that what I thought was jealousy was just overprotectiveness. So I acted on what I thought I felt and… well, you know the rest."

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised finally, ducking his head. "I never meant to cause her, or anyone else, pain. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have left your sister alone."

Instead of chewing him out even more, like he had every right to do, Ron chose a different approach. "So tell me the truth, Harry, and don't give me some mad explanation about how it was the circumstances that forced you into a relationship; did you love her?" he asked instead, ignoring Harry's apology.

Ron's question threw him; it gave him pause for thought. Did he love her? He was sure he did, yet he was also sure he didn't, not in a way that would count. He cast a fleeting glance towards Malfoy and saw that he was staring at him. They both averted their gazes quickly, but just that one look made him feel something he thought he'd felt with Ginny. He knew he didn't love Malfoy, but there was definitely _something_, and whether or not Malfoy felt it too was another matter altogether. _Focus, Harry!_ he chided himself. So Harry chose to ignore his thoughts, for now, and concentrate on the matter at hand.

"I _do_ love her," he corrected, "but not in the way she wants me to."

Ron raised his eyebrow, obviously waiting to hear his explanation. "I love her the same way you do, Ron; as a sister," he clarified, sighing deeply. Telling the truth felt good. "And I hate that I made her feel the way she does now. She doesn't deserve to be put through that."

"Okay," was all Ron said.

"And I'm sorry I didn't tell you the real reason earlier," he apologised sheepishly, turning his head away slightly. "I didn't realise my true feelings for her, until I expressed them. It's just that I feel like everything up here—" Harry indicated his head "— is in a huge disarray, ever since… ever since Sirius…" he broke off, then continued, pretending he hadn't taken a pause, "I just need to get things sorted on my own."

"So that's it?" he asked. "You and Ginny aren't together anymore?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I just don't see her in that way." He just couldn't face the idea of leading her on; Ginny deserved so much better than that, and so did he. He didn't want to be trapped in a relationship where only one of them had feelings for the other.

Ron kept silent, and then, as if unwilling to say it, "Alright, Potter; if I didn't know you so well, I'd probably think you were feeding me some cock and bull story." He paused briefly, taking a deep breath. "But I do, and you weren't." Harry felt a burden he didn't know he had lift from his shoulders when Ron said that.

"Just… don't come over right now. You know how good Ginny is at hexing. And I've not forgiven you, Potter; not yet." Before he left, though, he added, "But do come by before we leave for the train station." With that, Ron left and the flames in the fireplace died down to what it was before.

"Well," Malfoy drawled, breaking the silence. "_That_ was interesting."

"What do you mean, Malfoy?" he grumbled, leaning back into the couch behind him.

Malfoy shrugged, but now had a smug grin on his face. "Nothing," he said. "Just interesting."

Silence stretched out between them again, until it occurred to Harry how late it was. "Hey, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. Malfoy looked at him, and cocked his eyebrow. "Not that I mind, or anything, but won't your parents be worried that you're not home yet?"

He chuckled darkly, and threw a look at Harry. "Mind if I stay the night, then, Potty?" he asked snidely.

Now it was Harry's turn to cock his eyebrow. "Mind telling me why you might want to? And don't call me that," he snapped. "How'd you like it if I called you names?"

Malfoy winked at him, and said suggestively, "Depends on what you call me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So are you going to tell me, or aren't you?"

"My parents— well, father, really; mother preferred not to say— don't approve of my friendship with you," he admitted a little sheepishly, looking away from Harry. "Father and I had a row about my friendship with you. Mother tried to help diffuse things, but to no avail. They're just looking out for me, I suppose. I reckon they think that you're trying to put me in Azkaban, too." He laughed weakly, and all of a sudden, Malfoy didn't look like the calm, confident boy he'd known all these years; he looked weary, tired and uncertain.

"You don't think that, do you, Draco?" he asked. Using his first name sent chills down Harry's back, and he was already looking forward to the next time that he could say his name again.

He looked at Harry like he'd gone mental. "Of course not," he scoffed, sounding much more like his old self. "You're my friend, _Harry_. Plus, you've had your chance to turn me in, but you haven't."

"What about Goyle, Parkinson and the other Slytherins?" he inquired, his brow furrowed in worry. "They're going to hate me even more, because _their_ parents were either killed, or sent to Azkaban without a trial. Needless to say, I don't think they'll like it if we're friends."

"I told you already, Potter," he sighed. "I'm ruddy tired of keeping up appearances. That means that if I want to be your friend, then they'll have to sort out their problems with that on their own, because I couldn't be arsed about their biased opinions. If even my _father_ can't stop us from being friends, then I don't think the Slytherins have much of a chance, either."

Harry was silent for a while, before asking softly, "What about your mum? Do you know what her actual opinion is?"

He shrugged. "She pulled me aside before I left earlier, and told me that you are, by far, the best influence I'll ever get," he replied. "So I guess she's okay with it. She also mentioned something about you keeping me safe during the war. Do you have any idea about that?"

His eyebrows shot up, and he asked Malfoy in surprise, "Your mother didn't tell you about how she checked to see if I was dead?"

He shook his head mutely, waiting for Harry to explain, but he couldn't exactly bring himself to talk about the war. Though it was over, he tried his best not to talk about it, lest the memories haunt him once more, like they used to the month following the war. He would hear Voldemort's evil cackle, his high voice, and his curses; always the Killing Curse. And then it would get worse when he'd start seeing the bodies of those he loved. He saw Tonks and Lupin, lying next to each other in the Great Hall, looking as if they were taking a short nap; Fred, lying upon the floor, with Percy strewn across his body, trying to protect his brother; Dumbledore, who was already on the verge of death, struck dead by Snape; Sirius, who'd been duelling right next to Harry, falling behind that veil. Harry's breath hitched, and his face scrunched up in pain at the thought of his godfather; his last words to him were, "Nice one, James!" before being overwhelmed by Bellatrix. It was more his words, than his death that caused him so much pain. He tried to look on the bright side, that being just like his dad was a good thing, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the whole time Sirius had known him, Sirius had just seen him as a replacement for his dad.

"Why do you do that?" Malfoy asked suddenly, jolting Harry out of his thoughts.

"Do what?" he said gruffly, trying his best not to let his voice crack. Unfortunately, Malfoy saw right through his act.

"That," he replied. "You get lost in thought every time someone brings up the war, and each time you look as if someone's put the Cruciatus Curse on you. Trust me; I'd know what that feels like."

He grimaced, ignoring Malfoy's attempt at a halfhearted joke. "I thought I hid it rather well," he mumbled, looking down.

"Maybe from others, but not from me," he answered brusquely. "I know what pain looks like, Potter, and I recognise it even more when people try to hide it."

Silence enveloped them. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked Harry finally.

He shrugged. "It's nothing," he insisted.

"Right," Draco said slowly. Then he changed the subject. So what about my mother?"

After a while, he said, shrugging again, "When I died, apparently Voldemort collapsed, as well. When he came to, he forced your mother to check to see if I was still alive." Harry closed his eyes for a while, as the memories of that night threatened to overwhelm him. "When she did, and realised I was still alive, she asked about you.

"I told her that you were still alive and well in the castle," he continued. "I think she just assumed I was making sure of that, though it's beyond me why she would think so; we were on opposite sides of a war."

Though he wasn't looking at him, he could hear the confusion in his voice when Malfoy asked, "What do you mean, _when you died_? You didn't die, Potter, otherwise we wouldn't be talking right now, would we?"

He smiled cryptically at Malfoy. "That's a story for another time," he said mysteriously, his eyes showing a spark of good humour. Malfoy huffed, and looked away, sulky that Harry refused to divulge what he meant.

Harry chuckled, and reached out and took his chin in between his fingers. Gently, he pulled Malfoy's face towards his. He dropped his hand into his lap, and stared into his face, waiting for Malfoy to look up at him, too. When he finally did, Harry felt as if he could lose himself in Malfoy's eyes.

"You know, your mother thanked me when I said you were alive and well," he murmured. "And she did something rather odd after that. Do you want to know what she did?"

Malfoy shook his head slightly. "Not now," he whispered softly.

They were both transfixed, staring into each other's eyes. As if by some invisible pull, they started leaning towards each other. Inch by inch, they came closer, never once breaking eye contact. As the seconds ticked by, Harry and Malfoy slowly closed the little distance that was left between them, until the tips of their noses touched. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, being this close to Malfoy. He closed his eyes now, waiting for Harry to make the first move, his lips parted slightly.

Closing his eyes as well, Harry leaned in closer, and was just about to brush his lips against Malfoy's, when he heard a loud _crack_. They jumped apart quickly, Harry's heart stuck somewhere in his throat.

He looked around for the source of the noise and saw Kreacher standing not too far away. "Master Harry, should I turn down the guest bed for Master Draco, as well?" he asked in his deep voice.

He was so flustered that it took a while for Harry to reply. "Err, yes, thank you, Kreacher," he stammered finally, feeling his cheeks colour as he remembered how close he'd been to kissing Malfoy. _It was a good thing Kreacher came in_, he thought, relieved. _I wouldn't know how to explain what would've happened if he didn't._

After that, they moved on upstairs, leaving the mess they'd made of Harry's things behind for Kreacher to clear. Upon entering the room that he, Ron and Hermione had once shared, Malfoy turned to Harry and asked, "Why are you sleeping in the guest room? Why not in your godfather's old bedroom?"

He was grateful that their almost-kiss wasn't brought up, so he answered, almost too happily, "It was the room Ron, Hermione and I shared before; sleeping here makes me feel almost safe."

"Safe from what?" Malfoy asked, making his way towards the bed that Kreacher had prepared for him. "Can't be any safer here, with the Fidelius Charm around your house."

Harry was about to answer when he noticed a duffel bag at the foot of Malfoy's bed. "Is that yours?" he asked pointing at the bag, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

Malfoy turned his head slightly to regard the bag, and nodded. "I don't recall you bringing it with you when you came by this afternoon," Harry said, baffled. _He couldn't have apparated back home to pack while we were in Diagon Alley; there just wasn't enough time for that_.

He shrugged, turning his head back to stare at what he was looking at before; Phineas Nigellus Black's empty portrait. "Before Kreacher brought me upstairs this afternoon, I told him to take my bag as well. By the way, whose portrait is that?" he asked, swiftly changing the subject, nodded his head in the direction of the portrait.

"Phineas Nigellus Black's, a former headmaster of Hogwarts," he answered, a little bit impatiently. "But tell me more about how you just assumed I'd let you stay here, before even asking whether you could."

"I didn't assume, Potter," he snapped, now turning fully around to look at Harry. "I was _hoping_. If you'd said no, I'd have gone to stay at a… well, wherever else there is to stay in London."

"A hotel?"

"Yes, that," Malfoy said dismissively. "But since you said okay, I'm here for the night."

"But why here?" Harry asked, still not fully understanding. _High hotel rates should be nothing to a Malfoy_, he thought, immediately dismissing the possibility of financial difficulties. _He could've had the choice of staying at the Leaky Cauldron, as well, if he'd really wanted to._

He glared at Harry. "Because, _Potty_, you aren't the only one who feels safe here."

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**Sorry if you found any grammatical errors; I don't notice them until much later.**


	4. IV

**I wanted to upload this _much_ earlier, but after much editing, my laptop crapped out and I lost all the changes I made so I had to start from scratch.**

**Anyway, enjoy this chapter! I'll update this story in a few days, I hope. Keep your fingers crossed.**

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That night was the first night in a long time that Harry's dream consisted of nothing but happy scenes. Yes, he still dreamt of Dumbledore, Sirius and his parents, but in his dream, they weren't dead; they were alive and well, and they were beckoning for him to join them. They were standing in a wide, grassy clearing, surrounded by rolling hills and colourful, blooming flowers.

"_Darling, come and join us!_" his mother called out to him, while his father beckoned to him from behind her. Both their faces were spread out in smiles of happiness and welcome, and looking at them made Harry feel happier than he'd ever been in years.

He scanned the clearing, and his eyes met Sirius' grey ones. He waved cheerily at Harry as well, and hollered, "_Come and say hello to Buckbeak, Harry!_" Harry's shocked gaze turned to the hippogriff standing by Sirius' side. _I could've sworn he wasn't there a moment ago_, he thought wonderingly. Buckbeak lowered his head in a small bow, and Harry automatically lowered his in turn.

Then he turned his head towards the last figure in the clearing; an old man, with a long white beard. He smiled at Harry as he used to so often before. However, unlike the others, he did not bid Harry to come closer.

"_Don't fight it, Harry_," Dumbledore said so softly that Harry had a hard time deciphering what he'd said. "_Don't question it._"

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "_Don't fight what, sir? Don't question what?_" he asked.

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly. "_My dear boy, I'm sure you know_," he answered, looking at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "_When have I ever told you something you don't already know?_"

"_But I _don't_ know, sir,_" he protested.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow. "_Think carefully, Harry; you _do _know,_" he insisted gently. Then he gestured at his head then pointed at Harry. "_Everything you need to know is in there._"

Harry tapped at his head once. "_You mean in here?_" he asked, confused still.

Dumbledore didn't say anything, but merely nodded. He looked expectantly at Harry then, his eyes twinkling as they used to so often before, as if he'd just told Harry everything he needed to know and more.

Harry felt like tearing his hair out by the roots; Dumbledore was driving him mad. He had absolutely no idea what he meant, and Dumbledore wasn't being much help at all. Giving up trying to figure out what he meant, Harry searched through his own mind, to find out what Dumbledore was talking about.

Nothing at all stood out to him; he found nothing that he was fighting against, nor did he find anything that he was succumbing to. He shook his head angrily. "_I still have no idea what you mean!_" he cried in frustration.

He was just about to go on a rant, when he noticed that the edges of the clearing were starting to blur. He looked around in panic at his parents, Sirius and Buckbeak. They, too, were starting to blur and fade out of focus. The only person who was still clear as day was Dumbledore, and even he was fading. For some reason, he felt that finding out what Dumbledore meant was absolutely crucial. Why it was, he didn't know; he just knew that it was important.

"_Sir, please,_" he begged, "_before you go, tell me. Please._"

Dumbledore gave him a look of utmost disappointment. "_Why, Harry,_" he sighed, his voice getting quieter and quieter, "_haven't I already said that you know it? Just because you're not aware of it doesn't mean it's not there._" Softer and softer, his voice went, until finally Dumbledore's being faded away completely, and Harry was left utterly alone in the blurry clearing. Then, with a jolt, Harry woke up.

He sat up in bed groggily, and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It read fifteen minutes past seven in the morning. He groaned and collapsed back onto the bed. He covered his face with his pillow, not wanting to get up.

Minutes passed, and still Harry could not go back to sleep. He groaned again, this time in frustration, and tossed aside his pillow. He sat up again and leaned against his headboard. He thought about the dream he'd just had and while he was confused about what Dumbledore had said, he was also, for the most part, angry.

Yes, he was happy to see the people he loved most, but what made him angry was the fact that they were taken away from him in the cruellest ways possible before he'd ever had the chance to really get to know any of them, and his dream reminded him of that painful reality.

What was it that Dumbledore had once said? _'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?_' Harry glared at Phineas' portrait, which hung on the wall right in front of his bed, as if the former headmaster was to blame for Dumbledore's cryptic answers.

_Things that happen in our head aren't bloody real!_ he thought angrily. _It's these things he said that make me wonder how he had managed to stay out of St Mungo's._ He rolled his eyes and again ran Dumbledore's words through his mind.

At the time Dumbledore had uttered the words, Harry had found that it made sense, but now that reality was crushing down on him, it just made him angry; he'd barely even been with his parents, or with Dumbledore or Sirius, before they were taken away from him. Now that he was fully awake, Harry felt even angrier than before. _They're all gone, and all I've got is fragmented memories of half-forgotten dreams_, he thought bitterly. _It happened in my head, but that didn't make it any more real, despite what Dumbledore said_.

He looked across the room to where Malfoy's bed was, and saw that he was still asleep. The vague shape of his body was laying quite still, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, so as not to wake Malfoy. But just as he was about to put his hand on the doorknob, he heard a voice behind him, asking groggily, "Where are you going?"

He sighed inwardly, but then plastered a fake smile on his face. Turning around, he saw that Malfoy was sitting up, his sheets thrown off his body, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Then he patted the side of his bed, indicating that Harry should come and sit next to him.

Thinking it rude not to, Harry reluctantly joined him. Malfoy yawned loudly, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at him blearily. "Lose the smile, Potter," he mumbled, still sounding half-asleep, now sitting cross-legged. "I know when you're faking it, remember?"

He shook his head slightly, trying to wake himself up a bit more. "So what happened?" he asked, now looking at Harry properly, though his eyes were still a little unfocused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"What I meant to ask was," Malfoy began impatiently, looking a little more awake, "why were you working so hard to hide what you were feeling from me? We're friends, aren't we? I've told you things I never thought I would; the least you could do is return the favour."

Harry looked down at the bedspread and started picking on a loose thread. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled, working at the thread. Then he looked up at Malfoy. "Would you like to have something to eat? I could ask Kreacher to prepare something for us."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "_No_, I do not want any breakfast," he replied exasperatedly. "What I _do_ want is to know what you're trying so hard to hide; so either you tell me right now, or I shall put the Imperius Curse on you and _force_ you to tell me."

Harry sighed, looking away. _I guess I should just tell him the truth_, he decided finally. _No point in pretending, if he's going to sniff out my lies like a ruddy bloodhound._ So, with that, he told Malfoy his dream, and about how he'd felt when he woke up. Well, minus the part about what Dumbledore said; that, somehow, felt too personal to talk about.

After he was done relating his dream, he saw that Malfoy was resting his chin in his hand, and his eyes were half-lidded. "Look," he said quickly, before Malfoy could drawl out something sarcastic, "it was just a dream, I get that— and a really good one, at that— but that's just it; a dream."

He sighed heavily, and looked straight out the window, at what little of London he could see. "It didn't mean anything, and I'm sorry I wasted your time telling you about it." Harry made to get up, but was stopped when he felt a gentle but firm hand on his arm.

"It wasn't a waste of time, you silly, daft blighter," Malfoy growled quietly, tightening his grip before letting go. "Dumbledore was right, you know; just because dreams are in our heads, that doesn't mean they aren't real. The fact that dreams occur means that they are, in some way, real; maybe not in the sense that you could touch them, but still real nonetheless.

"Your parents, Dumbledore, Sirius… they're not gone; not totally. They're still in here," Malfoy continued, tapping Harry's forehead. "They're memories, yes, but they're memories of actual people. They lived, once, and they will continue to do so, in your memories, and also in your dreams."

Then Malfoy surprised him even more by reaching out and hugging him, briefly, before letting go. "Thanks, Malfoy," he said, blushing, trying to ignore the warm tingles coursing along the places that had come into contact with Malfoy.

"After all that's been said and done," he sneered, "you still want to call me by my surname? And you're welcome by the way, _Harry_." Harry smiled, looking at Malfoy in the eyes, seeing a mischievous twinkle in their depths, along with something else he couldn't quite identify.

"Thanks, _Draco_," he repeated, feeling a delicious shiver of pleasure at using his first name. Draco's lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh, but he supressed it.

"I can't believe we've known each other for seven years, and this is the first time we've ever used each other's names without threatening to kill each other," Malfoy— or was it Draco, now? — snorted disbelievingly. "Let's break that habit together, shall we?" Harry chuckled, and readily agreed.

They then spent the rest of the morning looking through old books filled with dark magic— which they didn't dare try— going through the secret store they found filled with ingredients for potions and practicing spells for transfiguration and charms.

"Ugh," Draco groaned for the hundredth time. "I can't seem to do this blasted charm just right! I can do other charms just fine, but, I swear, this one is harder than the Protean Charm." Harry had been trying his best to teach Draco the Undetectable Extension Charm, but to no avail.

"C'mon, just once more," Harry said, trying his best to encourage him. But just as Draco was about to cast the charm on his duffel bag, they heard a familiar tapping on the window. Both boys turned towards the sound and saw a barn owl waiting outside with a letter tied to its leg. The owl was not unlike the one Hogwarts had used to send him his letter.

True enough, it was a letter from McGonagall, summoning him to her house in Aldersbrook.

_Potter,_

_Please come by immediately, and bring Malfoy, if he is with you. There have been some special arrangements made for the both of you at Hogwarts. I'll explain why when you arrive. Send me your answer by owl._

_Minerva McGonagall_

Below, she'd also written her address. Draco was reading the letter over his shoulder. "The both of us?" he asked, straightening up. "Why? And how does she know we might be together?"

Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer to any of his questions, folding the letter into its envelope again. He looked around for spare parchment and a quill, and then wrote back that he would, indeed, be coming by and with Draco as well.

When they Apparated into a secluded corner not too far from Professor McGonagall's house, they were surprised to see that there weren't many houses around, either because the tenants had big yards, or because there weren't many houses in Aldersbrook; Harry felt it was the former.

Harry looked towards the house in front of him, and couldn't believe that McGonagall lived by herself in such a big house.

It was two storeys high, with steeply sloped front-facing gable ends. The walls, which were dotted with sash windows, were made up of cream-painted brick, and smooth wooden panels framed them and the gables.

As soon as Draco and Harry got to the porch, the door was thrown open, which caused both boys to jump back in shock. Before them stood the stern-looking McGonagall, in her usual dark green robes, lined in black. She invited them in and they stepped into a long corridor, with highly-polished wooden floors and panelled walls.

She then ushered them into her front parlour, which was through the first door to their left. Stepping through the doorway after Draco and Professor McGonagall, Harry felt his jaw unhinge. Against the wall was a French provincial sofa set, all in black and a rather long black marble top coffee table in front of it, with gilt edges, laden with tea and pastries.

The curtains covering the windows looked as if they were made from velvet, and the undercurtains made of intricately-patterned lace. Then Harry looked across the room, and saw a swan chaise lounge, also in black, wingback chairs, and a console table against the wall with an ornate-looking mirror hanging above it.

Stepping further into the room, he felt his clad feet come into contact not with the wooden floor, as he'd expected, but with thick Aubusson carpet. Looking down, it looked as if his feet were sinking into the obscenely soft rug.

Trying his best not to look too awestruck, he followed Draco, who had a look of nonchalance on his face, to the sofa. _No surprise there_, he thought._ His house was filled to the brim with antique furniture_. Harry shuddered slightly, trying to block out the memories of his time at Malfoy Manor.

Sitting across from them, McGonagall gestured to the pastries in front of her. "Please help yourself," she invited. "Would you like some tea?" They both nodded, and then helped themselves to some cake, as well.

"Professor, your house is absolutely gorgeous," Harry breathed, who'd just noticed that the wallpapers were deeply embossed with flowers. "Is that lincrusta?" _I guess it pays off sometimes to listen to Hermione go on and on about this sort of stuff_, he thought.

McGonagall beamed, pleased that Harry liked her home. "Why, Potter, yes, it is. Dumbledore quite liked it. He helped me pick it out, you know," she said, now a small fond smile on her face, as she thought of Dumbledore. "And thank you, by the way, Potter; it's nice to know you appreciate my home."

"It's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed truthfully. "But I could've sworn you lived in the castle, Professor."

"Ah, yes, well, ever since the Battle, I've had to live here. This was my late husband's house."

But before they could go on talking about the house, or the surprising news that McGonagall had been married, Draco spoke up. "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, not looking sorry at all, "but could you tell us why you called us here?"

McGonagall looked into Draco's eyes, green staring into grey. After a tense second, she regarded them both. "I apologise for asking you to come here without explaining further," she started. "We must discuss your accommodations for when you go back to Hogwarts."

"Wait," Harry interrupted. "Is Hogwarts still… in desperate need of repair?"

McGonagall shook her head. "It took a few days, but the other professors and I are quite sure that we managed to fix everything. So, about your new accommodations…"

"What about our dorm rooms?" Draco interjected, asking for the both of them.

"As you both know, you should have graduated last year," she replied, looking at them both. "But due to certain circumstances, that did not come to pass. So, this year, to make way for first years, I have been forced to reopen new wings for the few students who will be coming back for their seventh year."

"What do you mean 'few students'? Almost every seventh year Slytherin went back home before the war even started," Draco said, looking confused. "I _saw_ them leave, myself! I mean, I stayed back but…" He trailed off, not wanting to voice his involvement, or lack thereof, in the war.

"Ah, Malfoy," she said in a voice filled with what sounded like pity. "The seventh year Slytherins who went back were your friends Parkinson, Zabini and a number of others. The rest chose to stay and fight with us."

Draco looked shocked. Harry could see his mind racing a mile a minute, and even a flash of worry crossed his face, but he covered it up quickly as he asked, "Then what about the others?"

At this, McGonagall looked pained, as she answered, "They were the first to be killed by the Death Eaters. We… we tried our best to protect them, but…"

"Why the first?"

"You didn't know?" she asked him looking a bit surprised. "Did you not keep in touch with anyone after the war? To make sure your friends were okay?"

"No. I… had to keep a low profile for a while," he answered a little sheepishly, and then quickly changed the subject. "So why were they the first, Professor?"

McGonagall cast her eyes downwards. "Alecto and Amycus Carrow carried out their threats," she replied simply, heaving a sigh. "They were given orders to kill any and every traitorous Slytherin above everyone else. I'm sure you must recall them saying something along those lines; they said it often enough."

"They… they were serious about that?" he asked, his eyes widening. "I thought that they just said that to keep us in line." His voice cracked on the last word, and Harry felt so sorry for him, that he reached over and squeezed his knee reassuringly.

McGonagall looked up at him, and she didn't say anything. She didn't have to; her eyes said it all.

Draco now looked like he was about to cry, but hope crept into his voice when he asked, "W—what about Daphne? Daphne Greengrass?"

McGonagall looked at Draco pityingly. "I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy; she was one of the many we found dead," she said softly. "But do not despair, Draco; she is without pain now. Despair for the living, for we feel the pain of the deceased's absence every day."

After a few long seconds, Draco started crying, noiselessly, his tears streaming down his cheeks and down his chin. Harry couldn't take much more of seeing him like that, so he gathered him into his arms, hugging him close, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Harry wasn't too sure when, but when he looked up, he realised that McGonagall had left the room, presumably to let Draco grieve without her looking on at him. His shoulders heaving as he continued to sob, Draco clutched at Harry, as if his life depended on it. Harry leaned his head on top of Draco's and whispered soothingly into his hair.

Draco buried his head deeper into Harry's shirt and tightened his arms around him even more. He tried to say something, but Harry shushed him, and said that whatever he needed to say could wait until he felt better.

Eventually, his sobs died away, and his death grip on Harry loosened. "Are you okay?" Harry asked softly, tilting Draco's head up so that he could look into his watery grey eyes. Squeezing his eyes shut, Draco let a few more stray tears slip down his cheeks.

"Yes," he answered hoarsely, opening his eyes. "She was one of my best friends, you know." He sniffled loudly, leaning his head back into Harry's chest.

Not being able to think of anything else, Harry just said, "I know."

Harry pulled him closer again, as Draco buried his head deeper. Using the hand that wasn't wrapped around Draco's back, he carefully combed through his soft, blond hair, hoping that it would comfort him. It seemed that it did, as his grip on Harry loosened even further.

"Ahem," someone coughed behind them. They split apart immediately, blushing furiously, and McGonagall swept into the room and sat back in the chair she'd vacated. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr Malfoy—" Draco's face scrunched up in pain again "— but we must get on. You and Potter are the last two I'll need to inform about the change in accommodations."

"Where will our new dorm rooms be, Professor?" Harry asked, assuming that Draco would still be too distraught to speak.

"Phoenix Tower," she answered simply. "It was created in secret by Godric Gryffindor, to be used as his private study. He passed the knowledge of the secret on to Hogwarts' then headmaster, right before he died. He said that it was only to be used in emergencies, and this, I think, is considered a bit of an emergency."

"With all due respect, Professor, but how do you know about the tower?" Draco piped up suddenly, his voice sounding a little hoarse from crying.

"The secret of the tower is passed down from Headmaster to Headmaster, so that, in cases of an emergency, we may use the tower, if need be."

"So I'm guessing this was never mentioned in _Hogwarts, A History_?" Harry joked. McGonagall raised her eyebrows, but smiled slightly. "Anyway, where's the Phoenix Tower?"

"Very good question, Potter. Where, indeed," she answered cryptically, her smile widening a fraction. "Care to guess? I'm sure you would be able to find the answer soon enough."

Harry paused to think, but couldn't figure out what McGonagall was getting at. _I'm supposed to know what she's talking about_? he thought, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. _A secret location that no one but the headmasters and headmistresses know about._ Thinking back on it, Harry never actually saw a room he didn't know on the Marauder's Map. And, suddenly, he knew what McGonagall meant.

"The Fidelius Charm," he said at last, knowing that he was right. "That would make it unplottable."

"Excellent, Potter," she beamed at him. "Fortunately, or unfortunately if you so choose to look at it that way, you and Mr Malfoy will be the only ones to use it. The other spare rooms have already been filled with the others, including some of your friends from Gryffindor.

"Now, remember," she continued, "you two will be the only ones to be able to go into the tower, so you are quite safe. If you want to have visitors, do let me know; I am the Secret-Keeper."

"Where is it?" Harry asked again.

"The entrance to the Phoenix Tower is on the Third Floor, not too far away from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom," she told both Harry and Draco, who'd stopped snivelling. "Once you step through the door, you'll have to climb a few flights of stairs—" which Harry thought would be no problem, as his original dorm room had been quite high up in Gryffindor Tower, as well "— and then when you reach the top, you will see three doors in front of you, each leading off to a different room. Each room is more than big enough for the both of you together; so you have a choice. You can either stay together, like other students do in the dormitory, or you can choose to live in separate rooms."

"So now that you've told us where it is," Harry began, "will we be able to find it on our own?"

McGonagall snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "Godric Gryffindor changed the spell a little, so not only would you have to know the location, you would have to be shown it, as well."

"Oh."

"Will our doors need passwords?" Draco asked. Harry was glad that his voice didn't sound so hoarse now.

"There is no need for any passwords, dear boy; the Fidelius Charm is quite effective in keeping others out," she answered, looking like she was trying her best not to laugh at Draco.

Then Draco asked, "What about beds? Bathrooms?"

"The Phoenix Tower, much like the Room of Requirement, transforms itself into whatever you desire," she explained patiently. "Godric Gryffindor charmed it so, to suit his own needs as and when he used the private chambers. But unlike the Room of Requirement, you won't need to pace in front of your rooms every time you wish to enter. Once transformed, it won't change again, not unless you want it to."

Draco and Harry turned towards each other and smiled widely, Harry's bright and cheery and Draco's still a little bit watery, then turned back to McGonagall. "Cool!" they exclaimed at the same time.

"But what about owls? Will they be able to find us?" Harry asked, as the thought just occurred to him.

"Yes, they will."

"Just one more thing, Professor; how did you know Draco would be with me?"

"Miss Granger might have mentioned it," she said with a smile. "She and a few others from your year were here with me this morning, discussing their own special accommodations.

"Well," she continued, standing up, "that will be all, boys. I shall see the both of you in September."

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**Oh and thanks to the new followers and to those who faved! :-D Just wanted to let you know that you guys are awesome!**


	5. V

**Thanks to all those new followers and also to the ones who faved. Looking at the number of people who actually liked reading my story made me smile like I'd just lost my mind. It makes me feel great! So thanks!**

**By the way, this chapter is _really_ long; I did that on purpose, just in case I won't be able to upload anything until the weekend.**

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After bidding McGonagall goodbye, Harry and Draco Apparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place, and picked up right where they'd left off; practising charms. Not too long before lunch was ready, Draco had successfully managed to perform the Undetectable Extension Charm.

"Yes!" he cheered, his smile lighting up his face. "I'll definitely get an O for Charms this year!"

"No need to thank me, then, Draco," Harry said sarcastically, but then smiled to show him he didn't mean it. They continued trying out spells they'd be learning for N.E.W.T.s until Draco suggested they do something a little different.

"You want to learn how to do the Patronus Charm?" Harry asked, surprised. "But that won't even come out in our N.E.W.T.s."

Draco shrugged. "Knowing how to protect oneself from Dementors and, apparently, Lethifolds, seems more important than N.E.W.T.s, if you ask me," he pointed out. And then he added more quietly, his voice sounding a little scared, "When the Dark Lord stayed in the manor, he summoned Dementors to patrol it, at all times. They… they scared me. They made me remember —" He broke off abruptly and looked away.

"Okay, I'll teach you," Harry agreed quickly, before Draco could feel even more awkward. "You'll have to think of the happiest memory you've got, and let the feelings that come with it fill you. Once you've done that, point your wand, and say the incantation '_Expecto Patronum_'. Okay?"

"O—okay," he agreed nervously.

Draco narrowed his eyes in concentration, with a bit of a smile on his face, and yelled, "_Expecto Patronum!_" But instead of a corporeal Patronus, all that came out of the end of his wand was silver vapour.

To say that he looked utterly gobsmacked would be a gross understatement. Harry was about to chuckle, but then remembered his own first try. "That was good, Draco," he said honestly, "but not good enough to drive away any Dementors. At most, you'll just stop them from coming any closer.

"Tell me," he said, looking at Draco intently, "what memory were you thinking of?"

"None of your—" he stopped himself. "I was thinking of the first time I played Seeker for Slytherin."

Harry's brows shot up slightly in surprise. _Didn't I think along the same lines when I first tried to cast the charm?_ he asked himself.

Curious, he asked Draco, "Why that particular memory?"

Draco shrugged. "Knowing that everyone was depending on me to win felt absolutely brilliant," he answered. "Of course, I didn't feel so great when we lost." He chuckled darkly.

Harry didn't know what to say to that since it was his team that had beaten Draco's, so he swiftly changed the direction of their conversation. "Well," he began, "no offense, but that's not _nearly_ good enough to produce a Patronus. Try for a memory that's more personal, something that makes you unbelievably happy."

Nodding his head okay, Draco tried to think of another memory. After a while of racking his brains for a good memory, he seemed to have found one. "_Expecto Patronum!_" he called out, raising his wand, but, again, he only produced wisps of smoke.

"This is utter rubbish!" Draco burst out, flinging his arms in the air. "I'll _never_ get this right. I'm not you, Potter."

Harry chose to ignore the last part, and instead said, encouragingly, "Yes, you can. My first few tries weren't successful, either. The only problem lies here—" he rapped his knuckles on the side of Draco's head gently "— in your head. If _I_ can do it, someone who can't even perform Occlumency the way you can, then so can you."

Draco then agreed to try again. As he was about to cast the spell, his face broke out into a sunny smile that was so wide, Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling as well. _This is it_, he thought excitedly. And, true enough, Draco managed to cast his first Patronus; a baby dragon, not much bigger than Norbert, the last time Harry had seen him.

He walked over to Draco and clapped his hand on his back. "That was brilliant, Draco!" he praised. "Absolutely brilliant. Congratulations." He smiled broadly at his friend, proud that he'd managed such an advanced charm.

Though the smile was still on Draco's face, it was not nearly so wide. "Do you want to know what I was thinking about?" he asked quietly. Before waiting for a reply, he continued, still in that quiet tone, "I was thinking about the end of the war, when I was with my parents. I was so happy that it was all over, that the Dark Lord was gone, that, finally, I could stop pretending to be who I wasn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Dumbledore said—" again, he stopped himself from telling Harry what Dumbledore had said, even though Harry knew full well what was said.

"I'm _not_ a Death Eater," he insisted, even going so far as to pull up his sleeve. But the Dark Mark was right there. "I never wanted this. After my… my father and the others failed to get you in the Department of Mysteries, the Dark Lord thought it'd be proper to punish me for my father's mistake."

Going to sit on the couch, Draco continued woefully, "He punished me by giving me an impossible task, and threatened to kill me, and my parents, if I didn't accept." He trembled slightly as he recalled more and more of the dark times he went through. "But he wasn't the only one to threaten me, not by a long shot; every other Death Eater told me that if the Dark Lord was merciful enough to leave a few pieces of me behind, they'd enjoy nothing more than to feed my remains to the giants."

Sitting next to him, Harry draped an arm around Draco's neck to comfort him, and let him talk, without interrupting. "The Dark Lord gave me a day to make my decision," Draco went on, "during which time Aunt Bella practised the Cruciatus Curse on me, hoping that it would convince me to acquiesce to the Dark Lord's request. And my parents told me not to say no, that their lives depended on it. They didn't even ask whether it was what I wanted; they just expected me to do their bidding, like a bloody house-elf. I mean, I'd have said yes, anyway, for their sake, but overlooking what I want to ensure their welfare was absolutely…" He trailed off and blinked his eyes hard, tears leaking out of the corners.

"Can you believe them?" he roared out in disbelief. "The Dark Lord threatened to kill _me_ too, and all they were concerned about was themselves. They didn't even stop to think about what I thought, about what I felt, or to even express their concern for my well-being." He ended quietly, his voice shaking.

"I don't know about your father but your mother… she cares a great deal for you," Harry said after a long silence, using his free hand to take Draco's in his. "She was so worried about you, you know, that she didn't even care that she was lying to the Dark Lord about me being dead, just as long as she could get into the castle to see _you_. Do not judge her so harshly; she, along with your father, I believe, did the best they could, under the circumstances." He squeezed Draco's hand reassuringly.

"And what's done is done," Harry continued in a strained voice. "Dumbledore may be dead— and not by your hand either, so don't look so guilty— but… so is the Dark Lord. There is no point in talking about them or their would-be intentions any longer."

He looked up at Harry, his eyes no longer shiny with tears. "You're amazing," he breathed. "Absolutely amazing. How can you just… look past everyone's transgressions so easily? I… I couldn't possibly do that."

He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "Because I know what it's like to be treated with disgust over things people thought I'd done, whether I really did them or not."

Silence enveloped them, so thick in the air that Harry felt like he could hardly breathe.

Abruptly, Draco broke away from Harry, and he immediately started to miss the warmth of Draco's body pressed up against his side. "There's something I've tried my best not to do," Draco began nervously, twiddling his thumbs, like he did that day he came to apologise. "I thought I could but… I'm not strong enough."

"Draco?"

He held up his hand, silently asking Harry to wait. "And I want to make sure what your… feelings are," he continued, stumbling on his words a little. And then he placed his hand on top of Harry's. "Harry…"

He looked up at Draco, and stared right into his grey eyes, feeling like he was losing himself in them. "Yes?" he said, his mouth dry as cotton.

And without any warning, Draco leaned forward and touched his lips lightly to Harry's. To say that Harry was surprised would be an understatement. All he did was just sit there, while Draco moved his cool lips against his. But after his shock wore off, he found he liked Draco's lips against his. He started moulding his lips to the contours of Draco's, moaning unconsciously.

Draco let out a soft moan as Harry roughly grabbed the back of his neck to drag him closer. He silently urged Harry to part his lips, licking and gently prodding with his tongue. Opening his mouth, Harry wasted no time in pushing his tongue into Draco's already open mouth, mingling their tongues together.

Harry could barely contemplate what was going on, but he was lucid enough to notice the fact that Draco's mouth tasted like mint and pure, unadulterated lust. Harry put his hands on Draco's waist and pulled him forcefully to straddle his hips, letting one of his hands stray up and down Draco's body as he snogged him senseless.

Draco started unconsciously grinding his hips, rubbing himself against Harry. Almost instinctively, Harry started thrusting his hips up against Draco's at the same time he would grind down on Harry's, eliciting moans from both their throats. Realising he had to slow down before things got out of hand, Harry gripped Draco's hips even harder to stop him moving, making him gasp. "Don't do that," he growled, biting Draco's bottom lip none too gently, putting a stop to their dry humping.

Harry pulled his lips away from Draco's and dipped his head towards his neck. He nibbled and sucked on the sensitive flesh, leaving his mark, while Draco pulled at his hair, begging him not to stop. Finally he couldn't seem to bear anymore and pulled Harry's head up to his to continue their heated kiss.

After what seemed like an eternity, they broke apart from each other, Draco a little reluctantly.

Draco leaned forward and rested his head against Harry's slightly heaving chest, still straddling his hips. "That," he declared a little breathlessly, "was probably the best snog I've ever had the pleasure of receiving." He sighed contentedly as he felt Harry's arms around his waist tighten a little.

Harry chuckled slightly, still a little breathless himself, and Draco could feel it resonate deep within his chest. "You fancy me, then, I take it?" he asked, a little uncertain.

Draco looked up and glared at him. "Come, now, Harry," he scoffed. "Do not make yourself out to be as daft as all that. Of _course_ I fancy you." He rolled his eyes and then returned his head to Harry's chest and trailed his fingers along Harry's arm.

"I wonder what gave me away?" he said sarcastically.

Harry lightly smacked his arm. "Be nice," he said mildly. "In any case, I didn't know you were…" He trailed off, unsure of whether or not what he was about to say was considered appropriate or not.

"Gay?" Draco finished for him. He laughed. "Nor I you, Potter."

"I'm not gay!"

Draco disentangled himself from Harry's arms and scooted over to the other side of the couch. "Then I suppose you're straight. Fancy that; straight, but likes snogging other blokes," he drawled, once he'd settled down. Then he raised his eyebrow in a mocking manner. "At least, you liked snogging _me_, if your moans were anything to go by. And if you must know, I'm not gay, either. I go both ways, if you know what I mean." A broad smile crossed his face when he realised he'd made Harry heartily uncomfortable at the flippant way he'd said his words.

Harry felt his face go beet red. "I _did_ like snogging you," he admitted a little grudgingly. "But I'm _not_ gay; I'm what you might call, ah… bisexual, I guess." Now that the moment was over, he found it hard to look at Draco without thinking about how improper it was to be snogging his enemy-turned-friend, no matter how good it was; in his deceased godfather's house, no less!

"Oh," Draco said teasingly. "So have you ever dated a boy?" He raised his eyebrow, smirking slightly.

Harry's face couldn't have gone any redder than it did in that moment. "No."

"Ever kissed a boy before?"

Harry gulped and looked away. "No. You're—" he cleared his throat "— you're my first."

Draco chortled. "So… what are we going to do now?"

"I… I don't know," Harry answered honestly. He looked up at Draco. "I didn't exactly expect for any of this to happen; my mind is still reeling."

"Well, you liked our snog, didn't you?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded jerkily.

"So if you liked it," Draco went on, "doesn't that mean you like me, as well?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I really don't."

Draco looked exasperated now. "Come on, Potter," he scoffed, "don't be daft; surely you wouldn't have snogged me back if you didn't fancy me, as well.

"And," he continued in a softer voice, "you can deny it all you want, but I know you felt something between us, because I… I felt it, too." He looked at Harry expectantly, waiting for a response to his admission.

Harry raised his brows slightly in surprise. _He felt something? Did he, really?_ He just couldn't seem to grasp the idea that Malfoy fancied him. Though he'd actually thought he fancied Draco, even just a little, having the opportunity to have him right then and there scared him more than anything had ever scared him before. Obviously, Draco had given more thought to this than Harry ever had. Now he was wondering whether they should have snogged at all.

Harry felt sorely tempted to kick himself in the arse for acting like a sexually-deprived fifth year. How could he have snogged Malfoy like that? What was he thinking? _Oh no, he won't get the wrong idea at all_, he thought sarcastically. _I _really_ could have handled that situation a lot better than I did_. Not waiting for a reply from Draco, Harry got up from the couch and made his way to the door.

Harry was halfway towards the kitchen door before he heard Draco catching up to him. "Hey!" he called out. "Where are you going?" Harry glared at him and put a finger to his lips. When Draco gave a look of stubborn indignation, Harry knew what was going to happen a split second before it did.

"Don't you dare shush me, Harry Potter! And don't you ruddy well ignore me, either!" he yelled, his usually pale face turning red in anger. "You can't just pretend that what we did didn't happen." Harry groaned. _Here it comes_, he thought resignedly when he heard the curtains in front of Walburga Black's portrait draw open.

"Filth! Scum! By-product of dirt and vileness! Traitorous descendant of honourable purebloods! Filthy half-blood, uncouth blood traitor, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers; the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?" she screamed at them, her eyes rolling back into her skull. Harry could see her veins throbbing as she screamed and screamed. Not being used to it, Draco was shocked out of his wits.

Almost without thinking about it, Harry pointed his wand at the portrait and drew the curtains closed once more. Immediately she stopped screaming; instead, her very quiet snores filled the hall. He grabbed Draco by the arm and towed him towards the kitchen.

"What was _that_?" Draco breathed in disbelief, once inside the safety of the kitchen. It seemed that the shock of encountering Mrs Black had totally erased his anger for the time being. How long that would last, Harry didn't know, but he hoped it would be long enough for him to think things through._ How I let myself get into a situation like that, I don't know_, he thought in frustration.

But he put his frustrations aside, and concentrated on answering Draco. "_That_, my dear Draco, was your not-so-distant relative, Walburga Black, mother of Sirius and Regulus Black," he answered, settling himself at the table. He patted the seat next to him, indicating that Draco should join him. "Now, come and sit; it's time for lunch. I'm positively _famished_. Aren't you?"

Sitting reluctantly beside Harry, he asked, "Why was she… screaming all those awful things?"

Harry quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. "Kreacher!" he called out instead. "Draco and I are ready for lunch." Almost immediately, Kreacher came by with a food cart, filled with Shepherd's Pie, a mixed green salad and some bread and butter pudding. He helped himself to his share, and passed the rest to Draco.

"Thank you, Kreacher," he said politely to the house-elf as he exited the kitchen, to leave them to eat in peace. Harry dug in with gusto, much like Ron would after a long day aboard the Hogwarts Express. Draco followed suit, but with much less enthusiasm. All was quiet, except for the clinking of plates and glasses as they ate and drank.

"So… you didn't answer my question; why was she screaming such rubbish? And who was she talking about?"

Harry swallowed down the last bit of his pudding and turned to look at Draco incredulously. "You didn't even bother to guess?" he asked sceptically. "Or would you really much rather I tell you myself?"

"Enlighten me, if you please," he invited with mock politeness.

"She was talking about us," Harry answered simply, stacking their empty plates together to make cleaning up easier for Kreacher. Getting up and moving on back to the front parlour, he continued, "_Toujours pur_; always pure. That's the Blacks' family motto.

"She hates me for not caring about blood purity, and now, apparently, she hates you for associating yourself with me," he continued, sitting in an armchair and propping his feet on the table in front of him. He picked up his Charms book and flipped through it absentmindedly. "If she were still alive, I imagine she'd like nothing more than to blast you off the family tree."

Draco plunked himself into the chair next to Harry's, but instead of picking up a book to read, he turned to Harry. "And she… she says those things all the time?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he murmured, now concentrating on a charm he thought interesting. "She's only a pain in the arse when you're being a little too loud in the hallway. She wakes up then and starts screaming her head off about mudbloods, half-breeds and basically anything that she thinks is wrong.

"Hmm," he mused. "This charm looks fascinating, doesn't it, Draco? I'd like to try it out later." He faced the book towards Draco, whose expression was hard to read. Then Harry turned back to the book to look for some more charms he'd like to try.

"Can't you take her portrait down?" he asked, trying his best to catch Harry's attention.

"I'm afraid not; they told me that they suspected she'd put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back, so no one would ever be able take her down." He finally put down the book and stared out the window across him, thinking about the first time he'd come to 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd met some of the best people that night, and all of them were in the Order. He smiled slightly, thinking about how happy he was when he discovered Sirius was living in the same house as he, at least until school came around, but his smile vanished as soon as it appeared, when he remembered that he'd never live with Sirius again.

"So…" Draco hesitated. "Did she just… call me a 'traitorous descendant' of honourable purebloods?"

"Yes."

"And an uncouth blood traitor?"

"Yes."

Harry became silent again, staring outside the window with his arms crossed. He felt rather than saw that Draco was becoming increasingly irritated at him for not wanting to change the subject, to talk a little more about what happened between them earlier. Then something seemed to occur to Draco. "Who's 'they'?" he asked.

Still lost in thought, Harry said distractedly, "What are you on about?"

Draco answered, "You said 'they' thought that a Permanent Sticking Charm was used. Who's 'they'?"

"The Order of the Phoenix." Harry shrugged, not wanting to elaborate further. The Order wasn't around anymore; Voldemort was gone and his Death Eaters were either dead, in Azkaban, in hiding or, like Draco, repenting for their crimes; and in the process of keeping the Wizarding and Muggle worlds safe, too many of the Order's members had been lost. If not for the Death Eaters, Harry was sure that he would be meeting his friends at Hogwarts for their last year; but the dead couldn't join him. He felt sick to his stomach, thinking about what his deceased family and friends would think about him bringing a Death Eater into his home.

Not being able to sit still anymore, Harry got up and started for the windows. He put his palm against the glass and stared at his reflection, at the person who had failed to keep his friends safe. He should have died; he knew that. _But you did_, a voice whispered in his head, making him clench his fists. He died, yes, but he didn't stay dead, and to Harry, that was a debt he'd yet to pay for all those who'd laid down their lives for him.

"Harry?" Draco said, concerned, jerking him from his thoughts. "Are you alright? Do you want to talk?"

He shook his head. "No," he clipped.

But despite that, Draco managed to drag him over to a couch.

After a long silence, Harry decided to shatter it, and create tension by asking, "What did you mean when you said to me 'You're lucky you're not a Death Eater'?"

Draco hesitated, not really knowing how to answer. Finally, he replied, choosing his words carefully, "My family was one of the Dark Lords' biggest supporters in the First Wizarding War. But, as you may know, they claimed that they were under the Imperius Curse." He snorted in derision. "Then, during the second war, it was found that my family was, yet again, following the Dark Lord. Because of that, others started to think that we were never under any curse whatsoever, and even now still avoid us when they can. We're not exactly welcome anywhere.

"They want nothing to do with us," he continued, his face expressionless, belying the fact that his voice was filled with hurt. "And it's just as bad for me because I'm… I've been _marked_—" his face broke out into a look of revulsion "— by the Dark Lord himself. I wanted _none_ of this; but I was forced into it." Draco sighed heavily, holding his left arm tightly, as if the Mark was burning.

"My parents were too preoccupied trying to get into the good graces of the Dark Lord," he spat, "that they didn't stop to think for one second what would happen to us, to _me_, if the Dark Lord failed." He shook his head in disgust.

"Now everyone thinks that I am to blame, as well, when, really, I had nothing to do with it. I have to endure glares and whispers everywhere I go," he added a little sadly. "For some reason, the name Malfoy still carries some weight— I suppose that's mostly because we're one of the few high-class purebloods in our community— and if it weren't for the fact that I am a Malfoy, I don't think others would stop themselves from hexing me, the same way you almost did when I came here."

"So that's why Tom avoided you?" Harry asked finally, ignoring Draco's last statement, his mind far away from the dark place it had been at not too long ago; now, all he felt was pity for the boy sitting next to him. He grabbed Draco's hand and squeezed it, partly because he wanted to comfort him, but mostly because he felt the inexplicable urge to touch him.

Draco grimaced, but squeezed Harry's hand back. "Him and so many others," he said bitterly. "That's part of the reason why I've been in hiding. And that's why—" he looked at Harry, his tone softening "— I feel so safe here. Not just because of the Fidelius Charm, though that's very assuring as well, but because of you; you make me feel like I have nothing to fear."

Harry blushed. "I'm not as good as all that," he mumbled, looking away. He pulled his hand away from Draco's gently. "If I were, then…" His voice trailed off, as he tried his best to fend off the onslaught of the images of the dead in his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"In any case, I'd keep you safe; I saved you from Fiendfyre didn't I?" he pointed out cheekily.

Ignoring his flippant remark, Draco asked, curiously, "What were you about to say?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Harry mumbled, looking away. Then he tried to avoid further conversation by taking out his wand and making it point North, the way he'd done during the Triwizard Tournament.

Draco grabbed Harry's wand arm, effectively stopping him from performing any other mindless spell. "Harry," he sighed heavily, "when are you going to realise that I'm here to listen to you, regardless of what you've got to say?

"I understand if you may not want to talk about our snog," he continued, watching as Harry's face flushed red, "but keeping your pain on the inside is never good; so you either tell me now, or I'll brew some Veritaserum and pour it down your throat."

Harry chuckled weakly. "It would take at least a month to brew it," he pointed out. "Anyway, it doesn't matter; it's nothing I can't handle." He tried to smile reassuringly at Draco, who looked as sceptical as he would look if Harry were to say he was in love with Griphook.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I could wait a month; but could you?" he said smoothly. "I'd be surprised if you could make it that long without exploding. Besides, I just poured my heart out to you; you should return the favour." Harry contemplated for a while. _Should I?_ he wondered. _Would it actually help to finally talk about it?_

"Fine," Harry said tiredly, massaging his temples. "I'll tell you but… you have to promise not to think too badly of me." His eyes turned to Draco's beseechingly, willing him to be understanding.

Draco snorted. "I am… _was_ a Death Eater, Potter; that's as bad as you can get. I highly doubt I could ever think lowly of you," he said, rolling his eyes. "But do try not to make yourself sound even more like a saint, as every other witch and wizard has been doing as of late; I'd like to hear some dirty details." He smirked at Harry's glare.

"If you're going to be a prat, I shan't tell you," Harry sniffed, still glaring at Draco.

Draco put his hands up in surrender, but still had a smirk on his face. "Okay, Potter," he relented. "I promise not to judge you too harshly."

Harry appraised Draco before deciding he was relatively serious. "Right before the Battle," he started, "I was surrounded by the members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order; I felt so _safe_, and so secure in the knowledge that we had a good chance of winning, with as little casualties as possible."

Then Harry's eyes hardened. "It was stupid of me to think like that," he said harshly, slamming his fist down into the pillow next to him. "I… it took so much longer than I thought to find the diadem, and in the meantime my friends who'd marched into the battle fought and died, all because I asked them to buy me time. Their deaths were _my_ fault." And it rightly was; Harry knew that. Even now, he could still feel the weight of their deaths on his shoulders.

Draco's face paled at the mention of the diadem. "If anything, Potter," he said tightly, "their deaths were _my_ fault; we kept you from doing what you had to."

Harry glared at him. "Be that as it may, Malfoy," he snapped, "you weren't the Chosen One. Now will you let me continue, or shall I just wait a month for you to brew the Veritaserum?"

Draco glared back at him, but said nothing.

Taking that as an indication to go on, Harry picked up where he'd left off. "I thought that maybe I should repay their deaths with my own," he started again in a much softer voice, "so I went to see Voldemort in the forest. I had every intention of dying, just because I thought it would clear my debt. And when I _did_ die, I bloody came back.

"Is there no way for me to die?!" he burst out, his head snapping up in anger and his eyes flashing. Then he hung his head, his anger disappearing as quickly as it had come. "Is there no way to escape knowing that I'm the reason they died?"

He stared at his hands, and clenched them into fists, feeling as defeated as he did the night he found out he had to die. "I'm glad I got rid of Voldemort," he admitted quietly, "but sometimes I wish I could have gone, too."

"Don't be foolish," Draco admonished gently, squeezing Harry's knee briefly before letting go. "We're _all_ glad you're here. You're… everyone looks up to you, Potter! Whether you like it or not, the whole wizarding world absolutely _adores_ you.

"And as for the dead," he continued, holding up his hand when Harry opened his mouth to talk, "they _willingly_ died, not _just_ to buy you time, but also for our future." Harry felt a little selfish now, especially when Draco said the last part. _I suppose it isn't totally my fault_, he thought. _A better future… that sounds like what Lupin said_. But deep down, he still felt horrible about not doing something more to protect his friends.

"For Merlin's sake, Harry!" he exploded, when he saw the forlorn expression on Harry's face. "I was on your side during the Battle, and you didn't see _me_ fighting, did you? Like them, I was trying to keep you alive, but unlike them, I wasn't brave enough to raise my wand against the others.

"You duelled with Voldemort himself," he continued quietly, picking at a loose thread in his shirt, keeping his eyes averted. "You were so brave, fighting anyone and everyone you could, to protect those you felt responsible for. You were so brave for wanting to give yourself up, just to save everyone else."

He took a deep breath then looked directly into Harry's eyes. "You _are_ brave, and I think that having any other opinion of yourself would be too modest of you, pathetically so," he said with no trace of sarcasm in his voice at all.

Harry grimaced. "You make me sound cooler than I really was, but thanks, Draco."

And the war wasn't brought up again during the remainder of Draco's stay, which turned out to be quite a while. Apparently, Draco had had a bigger row with his parents than he'd let on, because he was determined not to talk about going home, even though Harry had asked him over and over whether his parents would be worried.

Though it was never brought up again, Harry knew Draco was itching to talk to him about their snog, and his little admission. He'd have been glad to, but he just didn't know how he felt about it, or what his feelings were towards Draco. Harry didn't want to hurt him, so every time he felt that their conversations were steering in that direction, he'd quickly change the subject.

Though things continued to be a little awkward between them, Draco still stayed with Harry. One night turned into one more, and then another. On the third day of hiding out at Harry's house, Draco got an owl from his mother, and by the look on his face, Harry knew that it had to be good news.

"What does it say?" he asked Draco.

"She wants me to come back," he replied, a wide smile crossing his face. "Mother didn't say very much about it, but she suspects Father may be coming to terms with our friendship."

"So are you going back?" Harry asked, not being able to conceal the disappointment in his voice. They were getting on so beautifully, he would be sorry to see Draco go.

Draco pursed his lips. "I'm not so sure," he said thoughtfully. "I may go, but as I said before, I feel safe here. I simply adore the manor, but ever since the Dark Lord decided to stay with us, it has felt… tainted."

He shook his head. "I know it's all in my head," he continued, "but, right now, I'd rather not go back."

But even with that said, Draco's mother managed to convince him to come home, even if for just a little while. Harry grew heartily bored rather quickly after Draco left, and was wishing for some companionship.

He got the occasional letter from Draco, but it seemed that he was happy back at the Manor, so there was no need for him to stay at Grimmauld Place for the time being. Though receiving word from Draco was great, Harry missed getting the occasional letters from Ron, as well. After learning about what happened between him and Ron, Hermione, who was staying at The Burrow for the summer, tried her best to make him feel better by telling him how Ron was doing from time to time. A few times, she even suggested that he owl Ron himself; he nearly did a couple of times, but felt that he shouldn't put their friendship at risk even more.

Since seeing Ron and Hermione was out of the question, for now, he decided to pass the time by actually studying, sometimes taking a break at Kreacher's insistence. Harry's nose was buried so deeply in his books that by the time his birthday rolled around he didn't even know, until Kreacher came by with a small birthday cake to wish his master a Happy Birthday.

"Kreacher," he gasped delightedly. "This is _wonderful._ Thank you!" He took the cake and cut a couple of small pieces, and took one for himself and gave the other to Kreacher, who accepted it gratefully.

The elf bowed, and rasped, "I'm here to serve my master and make him happy." Then his face broke out into a smile, which used to be so uncharacteristic of the old elf, and held out a sheaf of letters. "Many owls came by earlier, Master, with letters all addressed to you. Kreacher took the liberty to gather them all to pass to you. There were packages as well, Master, but Kreacher has left them in the kitchen. Kreacher thought Master would enjoy reading the letters first."

Harry felt touched at the elf's gestures and thanked him. He then set the cake on the table carefully, and took the letters from Kreacher. He smiled, looking at all the names on the envelopes. There were letters from all his friends, who actually remembered his birthday.

_Happy Birthday, mate! I can't wait till term starts; can you?_ Neville's letter read.

_Wotcher, Harry! Happy Birthday to you! Coming back to Hogwarts, I hope? Let me know. _Hagrid's letter.

There were so many others, all from his friends who'd survived the war, and there was even one from McGonagall. It lifted his spirits so, because knowing that these were the people he'd managed to keep alive made him feel as if he'd actually done something right.

There were even letters from people he didn't even know. How they knew when his birthday was was beyond him. _Oh goodness_, he thought to himself, blushing, as he read a letter he'd gotten from a girl named Heather Cromwell. _She's… friendly_. He put his fan letters— really, there was no other term to describe it— aside and reached for the rest he'd yet to read.

The last three in the pile were from Ron, Hermione and Draco. Hermione and Draco said the usual things one would say on someone's birthday, so Harry just glanced through their letters before putting it aside. But Ron's was far from the traditional greeting, and it made Harry want to laugh.

_Harry,_

_Happy Birthday, prat. __ Since it's your birthday, I've decided to forgive you earlier (don't hope the same for Ginny, though, mate). My mum's insisting on having you over for your birthday dinner (it's more like a feast, so please say yes!) so she's asked me to owl you. If you'd like, you may bring that Malfoy thing with you; we'll keep the hexing and jinxing down to a minimum, just for you! Owl me back with your answer._

_P/S: There's someone here who's been very eager to see you again._

_Ron_

Though Harry sorely wanted to owl Draco straight away, he restrained himself long enough to go through the gifts he'd received. He'd gotten gifts from almost everyone he knew; as with the letters, he also got some gifts from grateful fans.

He got some sort of plant from Neville, a feather from the head of a Fwooper— which is supposed to bring good fortune— from Luna and a general book of spells from Hermione and Ron. The other gifts were harder to keep track of, since he didn't know who the senders were. He _did_ manage to remember the gift from Heather Cromwell, and just thinking about it made him blush even harder than her letter did.

Finally, he got to Draco's gift. It was wrapped in dark green wrapping paper with silver lining. _Slytherin colours; should have known_, he snorted. It was a medium-sized package, and weighed almost nothing at all. Wondering whether Draco had sent him an empty box as some sort of joke, Harry opened it slowly, peeling the wrapping paper back as carefully as he could.

Exposing the top part of the box, Harry opened the lid and was a bit confused at what he saw inside. Harry picked it up in his hand and put the box down on a table nearby. He fingered it carefully, trying to figure out what to use it for. It had a thin, round wooden hoop with webbing across it, and dangling below it were feathers. He looked carefully at the net, and saw that beads had been woven in them. _What do I do with this?_ he wondered.

He picked up the box again and looked around inside for a note. When he found it and read it, Harry felt genuinely touched that Draco had gotten him something so thoughtful.

_Harry—_

_Happy Birthday. I know I may not be there for the next nightmare, so I hope this is a good enough replacement._

_This is what Native American Muggles call a 'dream catcher'. It catches bad dreams and only lets in good ones. If I'm not mistaken, you have to put it over your bed to work. Personally, how Muggles think a contraption like this can work without magic is beyond me, but I thought you'd like it._

—_Draco_

Harry couldn't stop himself from smiling. Draco's gift was, by far, the best he'd received for his birthday. It was the most thoughtful gift he'd ever gotten, besides his lost Firebolt and Hedwig. Then Harry started wondering how Draco even knew about Native American culture. Even _he_, who had been raised in the Muggle world, didn't know about dream catchers. But that was hardly a surprise, come to think of it, since he mostly lived in a cupboard growing up.

Setting Draco's gift aside carefully, he wrote thank-you notes to everyone who'd wished him a happy birthday. But since there were so many letters to be sent, he asked Kreacher to bring them to the Owl Post Office instead.

"And there will be no need for it to be an express delivery," he added. Kreacher nodded. "Thank you, Kreacher; that will be all." And with a crack, he was gone.

Now that he didn't have all those letters to worry about, he wrote a note addressed to Draco, thanking him for the lovely gift, and also asking whether he'd want to accompany him to the Weasleys'. Once he was done, he called his new owl, Braxton, over to deliver his letter.

Within an hour of sending him off, Harry saw Braxton flying through the sky towards Grimmauld Place. He opened the window and let the owl in, passing Braxton a treat as he untied the letter from its leg.

_Harry—_

_At __**The Burrow**__?! That pathetic excuse for a house? Why the hell would I go when I can just_

The last sentence was scratched out and then he wrote,

_For __you__, Potter; I'm going for __you__. You owe me._

—_Draco_

_P/S: You're welcome._

Harry didn't think it possible, but Draco's letter was even funnier than Ron's. It was a while before he could control himself enough to owl him back, telling him to come by the next day so they could Apparate together.

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**If you want me to upload the next chapter faster, please leave a review. And no, I'm not beneath blackmail. ;-) Hahahaha.**

**But seriously, leave a review; I'd like to hear from _all_ of you. :-)**

**P/S: I apologise if you found any grammatical errors. I've been so tired lately, so I may have missed out some things.**


	6. VI

**I don't usually reply to comments, but I thought I'd break that habit _just this once_ :-)**

**Fred: Draco never actually poisoned Ron; it was meant for Dumbledore. He never maimed Bill's face, either; it was Fenrir Greyback. And he never identified Hermione; his mother did that. And from what I've seen in the movie, and read in the book, he never actually participated in the battle. He was rather like Regulus Black; joining up with the Death Eaters seemed like a great idea, but once in the group, he regretted it but he knew he couldn't just quit without suffering consequences. As for the Weasleys being okay with him setting foot in their house, I don't think they are, not at first anyway. After all, Ron helped save Draco and Goyle in the RoR; so why not be nice enough to invite Harry's new friend to their house? IDK, that's what I think. Anyway, as I mentioned in the first chapter, this story is not quite canon. Thanks for pointing out what you felt was wrong, though. :-)**

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The next day, he decided to wake up early enough to have breakfast at a proper time. Kreacher was more than delighted to serve Harry, and as a treat, he invited Kreacher to dine with him as well. Though he refused to, profusely, he could see that his house-elf was secretly pleased that his master treated him so well.

He didn't have to be at Ron's until seven in the evening, so Harry set about to fill up his time. Again, he took to studying all he could before term started. After all, his N.E.W.T.s was what would determine his career after school.

At around five minutes past six in the evening, while he was thumbing through _Defensive Magical Theory_, he heard an incessant knocking on his front door. Before Kreacher could do it, Harry put down his book, got up and called out, "I'll get it, Kreacher!"

Before opening the door even, Harry already knew who it was. _I thought I told him to be here by seven_, he thought irritably. _I'm not even dressed yet. Does he expect me to go out looking a mess?_ He opened the door and was unsurprised to see Draco standing there, in his usual all black attire.

Without saying a word, Draco brushed past him and went to the living and settled himself on the couch, waiting for Harry. Harry sighed inwardly, and shut the door. He grudgingly followed Draco, but opted to stand by the windows.

"I thought I said to arrive by seven," Harry said a little irritably, looking at Draco. His brows furrowed. "I _did_ write that, didn't I? I could've sworn I did—"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter," Draco interrupted before Harry could go on any further. "I came here earlier to talk to you about something."

Harry eyed him warily. "What is it?" he asked.

Draco took a deep breath, looking a little nervous. "I came to talk about us," he said at last. "I didn't force you before, because I felt it inappropriate to talk about it, so soon after you'd just told me about how you felt after the war but—"

He paused, trying to find the right words. "But it's been too long, Potter!" he burst out suddenly, his eyes flashing. "I've waited at least two weeks for you to talk to me about … about what happened, but I've not heard you mention it! Not even once!" He blinked away tears, and turned his head the other way.

"The sooner you get it over with, Potter, the sooner we can sort this out," he said quietly, his voice only cracking a little. Harry felt torn; on the one hand, he felt that he and Draco had an undeniable chemistry, but on the other hand, Harry wasn't lying when he'd told Ron that he still needed time to sort things out for himself. His priorities were all over the place; a relationship was just out of the question.

Walking away from the window, Harry sat on the sofa opposite Draco and regarded him with his green eyes. "I'm sorry," Harry apologised, hoping he looked just as apologetic as his tone implied. "I know that there's no excuse for me avoiding the subject, but if it's of any consolation to you, I just wanted some time to think, so I wouldn't hurt you.

"I do care about you, Draco," he continued, but hesitated briefly before saying, "but I don't think it wise for us to get involved right now."

Draco's expression, which had been full of hope before, fell. "Why?" he spluttered.

"I wasn't lying when I told Ron that I still need to sort things out—" he indicated his head "— in here," he explained as gently as he could. He got up then sat next to Draco. Taking his hand in his and squeezing it, he said, "And once I do get things sorted out, I swear to you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, I _will_ let you know." He leaned over and pecked Draco's cheek lightly.

Draco closed his eyes and sighed deeply. "Okay," he said quietly, opening his eyes and looking at Harry. "I won't ask why I can't help you with your problems, but I'll still be here to help you when your memories become too overwhelming."

Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. _That's more than I deserve_, he thought. _At the very least, I expected him to yell at me or worse; hex me._ Regardless of what he thought should have happened, Harry was happy, and he felt lighter than he had in a while.

Excusing himself, Harry went up to the guest room to change. He donned a decent pair of jeans and a plain dark green shirt. He thought that wearing green would please Mrs Weasley, as she was the one who'd said that the colour brought out his eyes.

Not even bothering with his hair, since it never actually stayed down, Harry went downstairs to where Draco was. "C'mon, Malfoy," he said to the figure sprawled on his couch. "Let's go."

"But it's still too early," Draco whined. "It's half past six. We don't have to be there until seven, right?"

"Well, technically, yes," Harry agreed, "but I usually like going over earlier than planned so I can have more time with Ron and Hermione. Now come, Draco, we're leaving." He held out his hand towards Draco, but he still didn't move from his position on the couch.

Draco groaned. "Fine, Potter," he relented, standing up and stretching. "But don't leave my side; I shudder at the thought of being left alone with Weasley and Granger."

Harry laughed, and assured him he wouldn't leave his side. Then something occurred to him. "I've been meaning to ask; how do you know about Native American culture?" he asked, suddenly remembering Draco's gift.

Draco shrugged. "You can't be a Malfoy and be ignorant," he answered noncommittally.

Without further comment, they Apparated to The Burrow. Harry smiled at the sight of the crooked house in front of him, at the many happy memories he'd associated with the place. Then he looked around the compound, and saw that Mrs Weasley had put out a long table covered in a tablecloth in scarlet and gold; the colours of Gryffindor.

He and Draco walked towards the house, and as they came closer, Harry could see that the one who was setting up the table was none other than Mrs Weasley herself. "Harry, Draco!" she exclaimed delightedly when she caught sight of them. "How nice to see the both of you."

"Mrs Weasley, hi," Harry greeted, while Draco shuffled his feet uncomfortably and mumbled a greeting. "It's good to see you, too.

"Where's Ron?" he asked.

"Ron wanted me to let you know he's in his room with Hermione, entertaining our youngest guest," she winked. "She says she's very eager to see you again."

But before he could ask her who she was talking about, Mrs Weasley turned back to setting the table. Harry shrugged and continued into the house with Draco trailing behind. The living room was filled with the rest of the Weasley family, and it took a while before Harry could extricate himself from the hugs and handshakes. Though Harry was greeted warmly, everyone was more than just a little wary of Draco, except for Fleur. She took his face in her slender hands and kissed both his cheeks in greeting, and flounced back to Bill, as if she hadn't just kissed an alleged Death Eater. Though a strange greeting, as compared to the ones he'd just received, Draco took it in stride, and even smiled a little at Fleur.

They went on up to Ron's room without further incident. Harry knocked on Ron's door and just went in without waiting for Ron to tell him to come in. Draco followed closely behind, and Harry saw his eyes widen when he saw the bright orange Chudley Cannons posters all over Ron's walls.

"'Arry!" he heard a voice cry from across the room. "It is so good to see you again."

His head whipped around toward the voice, and he saw Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's younger sister sitting on Ron's bed right next to Hermione. She hopped off the bed and made her way towards him. Harry couldn't help but notice that she had filled out considerably in the year he'd not seen her. He almost had a hard time believing she was only sixteen.

"It 'az been too long," she said once she was in front of him. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheeks, much the same way her sister had kissed Draco, but he knew that while Fleur was just being nice, Gabrielle was being a bit more amorous than that.

Draco made an annoyed sound at Gabrielle's overly passionate greeting. Unfortunately for Draco, she heard the noise and turned towards him. She gave him a beautiful smile. "And 'oo is zis 'andsome man be'ind you, 'Arry?"

Before Harry could answer, Draco cut in. "Draco Malfoy," he introduced himself coldly, tilting his chin up slightly. "And you are?"

"Gabrielle Delacour," she answered, completely ignoring Draco's coolness towards her and holding out her hand for him to shake. He hesitated briefly before clasping only the tips of her slender fingers and then letting go.

"Charmed," he said a little disdainfully. Harry rolled his eyes at the exchange and turned towards Ron and Hermione who were watching the scene in front of them with bemused expressions. Just looking at their expressions made his lips curl in amusement.

While Gabrielle was still trying to engage Draco in a proper conversation, Harry walked over to his other friends and sat next to Hermione on the bed. "Hey, Ron, Hermione," he greeted. Then he lowered his voice. "Not that I'm complaining, but why is Gabrielle here?"

Ron shrugged, and answered just as quietly, "We don't know. She and Fleur act like they've got a secret, and apparently Bill's in on it, as well. They said they'll tell us all what it is when you arrive." He shared a look with Hermione, and continued, "We have a few ideas, but they don't seem to make much sense."

But just as he was about to ask what he and Hermione had guessed, Gabrielle and Draco made their way over to them. She plonked herself right next to Harry, her leg brushing up against his slightly. Seeing as there was no more space on the bed, Draco grudgingly sat on the floor next to Ron, glaring at Harry as he did so.

"'Arry, your friend Draco, is— 'ow you say… very amusing," she said, her bright blue eyes practically shining.

Looking at Draco's face, Harry knew that he was not, in the very least, trying to be funny.

"So, 'Arry, tell me; do you 'ave _un_ _petite amie_?" she asked him, leaning in a little closer. Looking into her eyes, he couldn't help but notice how gorgeous her eyes really were. His gaze lowered to her pert nose, then down to her light pink lips. Much to his surprise, he felt like closing the distance between them, to capture her lips with his. She caught his eye and smiled invitingly, as if sensing that he wanted to kiss her.

He felt his hands itching to reach up and grab her head, to bring her close, to feel her silken blonde hair beneath his fingers. _Snap out of it, Harry!_ he screamed at himself. Shaking his head slightly, he broke the trance that he suspected Gabrielle had put him in and, for good measure, sat a little further away from her. She pouted at this, obviously disappointed that her Veela charms didn't work.

"No," he answered his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks burn. He repeated in a much clearer voice, "No, not at the moment."

Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak, Hermione broke in and asked Harry, "So have you looked through all the books we've been assigned this year? I've been through almost all of them, and I can't imagine a harder syllabus. This term is going to be hard."

Harry brightened the moment Hermione had interrupted and felt like he should be eternally grateful to her. What with the death glares from Draco, and the inviting stare of Gabrielle, he had no problem focusing on something else; namely, his schoolwork.

Just as Ron was about to yawn for the third time during Harry's and Hermione's discussion of schoolwork, the door to his room creaked open, and George stood there in the doorway.

"C'mon, kids, it's time for dinner," he said, then turned away to walk back downstairs. Harry grimaced. George looked terrible. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks slightly sunken in and he had lost quite a bit of weight. He looked at Ron and he suspected that his expression mirrored Ron's, who looked pained at seeing his brother in such a state.

They made their way downstairs silently; even Gabrielle had chosen to keep silent, for which Harry was grateful. He couldn't imagine calming Ron if she'd said something inappropriate.

As the others made their way into the yard, Ron pulled him aside. "Hey, mate, I promised mum not to let you come out until she says so," he told Harry, keeping his voice low. "I reckon she's got a surprise for you. Ever since the war…" He trailed off, looking pained again, but he soldiered on.

"Ever since the war, she's been going out of her way to please everyone," he continued. "Initially I wanted to tell her to stop being so selfless, that she has to mourn too, but I suspect that doing this for others makes her absolutely mad with happiness.

"Especially when we enjoy it," he added, looking Harry in the eye. With that, Ron left him standing alone in the kitchen, waiting to be called out by Mrs Weasley. He was sure Ron hadn't meant to do so, but Harry felt even more horrible knowing that Mrs Weasley was mourning in that way. It made him feel more selfish than when Draco had said that their friends hadn't died in vain; Mrs Weasley was in mourning, too, and not just for friends who'd died, but for her own son. He promised from that moment on that he'd stop moping around, and start making the best of what he had, regardless of whether or not he felt responsible for the deaths of his friends.

A few minutes later, he was called to come out. When he did, the sight before him surprised him even more than he thought it would.

Standing before him was the entire Weasley family, the Delacour sisters, the last few members of The Order of The Phoenix and a few friends from Hogwarts. Amongst his old friends, he saw Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus. They were surrounding the long table he'd seen coming in, and on it was a feast that would put the ones at Hogwarts to shame.

But the food wasn't exactly what surprised him the most; it was that right below the banner hanging in the tree which read 'Happy Birthday, Harry', there was another banner that read 'The Man Who Saves' and Harry was delighted to note that they'd purposely not called him a 'boy' as so many others have done. Below that was written 'Without Whom We Would Not Be Here'. All he could think was _what?_ He couldn't seem to comprehend what he was reading.

"You saved us all, Harry," a voice broke into his confused thoughts. He turned towards the voice and saw that it was George who spoke. "Fred may be gone—" he choked, his eyes shiny with unshed tears "— but we're not. If not for you, I'm fairly sure we wouldn't be standing here right now.

"I'm sure Voldy would've wanted nothing more than to kill us for being the blood traitors we are," he continued winking, every eye on him now. Now that Harry had more time to look at him, he didn't look as bad as all that. He even had a ghost of a smile on his face. "But you didn't let him get that far, and for that, we are all grateful. There may have been deaths, but it was a war; deaths happen, whether we like it or not." His voice cracked all over the place and his face contorted in pain briefly before smoothing out his features into a fairly proper smile, one that not quite reached his eyes.

"When mum decided to throw you a birthday party, we all decided to make it a bit more special," he added, his voice now back to normal. "She wanted to make this speech, but I managed to convince her to pass the honour on to me—" he grasped his mother's arm briefly "— so I could personally thank you for ending the war." He smiled widely now, all trace of sadness gone. Everything, and everyone, around them was so silent now that you could probably hear a pin drop.

"So, Harry," he continued, still smiling, "since it's quite safe to assume I can speak for almost everyone present and otherwise, we thank you.

"To Harry, the Saviour of the Wizarding World!" he shouted, holding his glass up in a toast. Everyone else followed suit, and cheered loudly, clinking their glasses together. He waited a while for the noise to die down before speaking again. "Oh, and Happy Birthday." He added the last part with a wink, and again, everyone raised their glasses, this time in a silent toast to his words.

Dinner was entirely eventful, and he couldn't remember ever feeling as happy as he did in that moment. At the table, he ended up sitting between Hermione and Draco, both of whom wouldn't really speak to each other, though Hermione was making the effort to do so.

Midway through dinner, Draco stood up, and tapped his glass to get everyone's attention. Silence fell almost at once, everyone turning around to look at him in shock and slight trepidation, as if he was going to curse them all.

"I know that it is a surprise to many of you that I am here," he began, addressing everyone, ignoring the stares. "And I know that it is an even bigger surprise that Harry and I are friends, but as I have told him and—" he seemed to have a hard time choking out the next few words "— his friends, Ron and Hermione, I am a reformed man."

"And I know many of you here don't want me here at all," he added touchily, "because of my so-called involvement in the War and the Battle; but I assure you, I had as much involvement in the deaths of your friends as any of you."

Silence met his proclamation, but that did not deter him. He continued, "For those of you who do not know, yes, I was a Death Eater." He rolled his left sleeve up, and everyone hissed when they saw his Dark Mark. "But despite what you may think, I was not branded because I deserved it, because I'd killed or done his bidding; the Dark Lord did it as a punishment to me, and especially to my family."

Everyone was looking at him now, less in fear and more in pity. "I did what I could to help protect my family," he said calmly, "as did all of you, which I greatly admire. I admire all of you, and all of the things you did to try and assure everyone's safety.

"But the person I admire most," he continued, "is the one sitting right next to me; Harry Potter!" Cheers erupted up and down the table, and Draco's normally cool features settled into a warm smile, this being one of the very few times Harry had ever seen it.

"If not for him, I wouldn't be standing here, either," he said, once the cheers and applause had died down. He turned towards Harry now, and addressed him directly. "You saved more people than you know, Harry; me included, and I can safely say that most of us will be eternally in your debt because of your selfless acts."

Then he turned back to the other guests. "I know we've already made a toast, but Harry deserves another!" he exclaimed loudly, holding up his glass. "To Harry Potter!" The cheers that erupted earlier were nothing compared to this one; they were screaming themselves hoarse, and clapping their hands raw. Harry felt himself blush as their cheering went on and on. Even Ginny, who'd mostly just clapped politely before, was now cheering as much as the others.

Finally, their cheers quietened, and everyone was now looking at Draco, who was already seated, with respect, rather than fear. Their dinner continued on much the same way it had before, but now Draco wasn't afraid of participating in conversations and the others weren't wary of including him. Though he was partaking in conversations, Draco still had his air of self-importance, and his answers were just a little more arrogant than they needed to be. Harry rolled his eyes. _Rome wasn't built in a day_, he thought.

By the end of dinner, he was so full that he thought he wouldn't be able to walk. "You outdid yourself with dinner, Mrs Weasley," he told her, watching her face carefully for a reaction to his words. She blushed and said that it was nothing; she thought he deserved nothing more.

"Cake!" Ron yelled suddenly. "Don't forget the cake!"

Harry groaned a little. _Cake?_ he thought incredulously. _Are they trying to make me pass out from all this food?_ But Harry didn't protest at all when Mrs Weasley and George came out of the kitchen door, holding the biggest and most intricately designed cake he'd ever seen.

The cake was mainly of Hogwarts castle, crumbling the same way it had on the day of the Final Battle. Standing right in front of the castle were miniature figures of the ones who'd been involved in the Battle.

They were walking around amongst each other, and cheering silently. He could see himself being hugged by Ron and Hermione, the Weasleys all standing side by side, beaming proudly, and the Order standing back, watching the festivities. And then Harry noticed something that George must have insisted they include; a figure of Fred, who was standing right next to his twin, with their arms around each other's shoulders, beaming.

Though not everyone was included, the ones Harry considered closest to him were right there, including Sirius, Lupin and Tonks. Of course, Dumbledore was there too, standing back just like the Order was, with, Harry was unsurprised to see, Severus Snape beside him. Looking at the cake, and its cheerful decorations made Harry miss all those not with them anymore, but also grateful that Voldemort's reign had never come to pass.

Amazingly enough, they managed to finish the cake, even though they had all claimed that they were full after they were done with their dinner. As an added birthday gift, Harry was allowed to take home all the figures. He was delighted at this, since he had almost nothing to remember the deceased by. But after thinking about it, he pulled George aside and discreetly passed him the figure of Fred. George surprised him by pulling him into the tightest hug he'd ever gotten.

Harry then tried to help the others clear up the table, but every time he picked up a plate, his hands would get slapped away by Mrs Weasley, Ron or Hermione, all saying that he should mingle with the guests, since it was his birthday.

Seeing as he had nothing else to do, he started walking around, greeting guests he'd not been able to speak to because they arrived much later than he did. He was looking around for Draco, but found that he was keeping busy by helping Mrs Weasley and the others clear things up. Harry was happy to see that Draco was getting along with Mrs Weasley, at least. He could still see that he was quite aloof with his other friends.

With nothing else to do, Harry kept going around, speaking briefly to almost everyone, including McGonagall, who'd also been invited. He was about to make his way towards the kitchen to get himself a drink when he was stopped by Gabrielle.

"Ah, zair you are, 'Arry!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and dragging him over to where Fleur and Bill were. "I 'ave been trying to talk to you all evening, but you disappear as quickly as a Snidget." Then she laughed. Harry felt the corners of his lips turn up too. _Good to know I'm not the only one who's read _Quidditch Through the Ages, he thought, amused.

"Hey, Harry," Bill greeted when Gabrielle had successfully dragged him towards them. "We've got some exciting news for you. We've spoken to McGonagall about it and—"

"'Old on," Fleur interjected, placing her hand on Bill's arm. "'E does not even know what you are talking about. Do not overwhelm 'im.

"'Arry," Fleur began, now looking at him, "Gabrielle 'az decided to leave Beauxbatons to come stay wiz me and Bill zis year. As you can probably guess, _maman_ and _papa_ were… not so 'appy wiz 'er ideas."

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "Well," he said finally. "That's a shame; but what's that got to do with McGonagall?"

"We have… 'ow you say… made a compromise," she replied in a playful tone.

"Compromise?" he repeated, even more confused.

She smiled at Harry's confusion, and so did Gabrielle, making them look even more alike. "She 'az not decided to stop going to school," she assured him, winking. Harry's look of confusion intensified, and this time Fleur couldn't stop herself from giggling. "'Arry, 'ave you not guessed? She will be going to 'Ogwarts!"

His mouth dropped open. He looked to Bill for confirmation, and he merely nodded at his silent question. "Hogwarts?" he repeated dumbly. "But… I've never heard of transfer students."

Fleur smirked. "Well, it is most uncommon," she allowed, "but not un'eard of. Gabby will be one of ze first in many years.

"So," she continued, "wiz zat said, McGonagall thought it only proper to assign Gabby a guide; you!"

"Me?" Harry repeated dumbly, still trying to process the information he was being fed.

Fleur nodded excitedly, and told him, "She also said zat since zair is no more room for Gabby in any of ze Houses, she will assign 'er a room right next to yours."

Then her brows furrowed, but before she could say anything more, Bill cut in. "Yeah, she mentioned a secret tower of some sort," he piped up. "She said you'd know what she was talking about, but she couldn't quite go into detail; said something about a well-kept secret."

Harry smiled. "I do know what she's talking about, actually, but I'm afraid I can't say too much about it," he replied. Then he turned to Gabrielle. "So, Gabrielle, do you know what House you will be in?"

She cocked her pretty head to one side, and replied, "Enough of zees formalities, 'Arry; you may call me Gabby. It is much easier zan saying Gabrielle, is it not?" She gave him a playful smile, and a nice view of her perfectly straight teeth.

"But to answer your question, yes I do know," she continued. She indicated towards Fleur and Bill. "We went to 'Ogwarts ze uzzer day to discuss my, ah… transfer wiz Professor McGonagall, and she inseested I put on zis 'ideous 'at." She shuddered.

"So what did it say?" Harry asked, intrigued that Gabrielle had actually been Sorted before the actual ceremony.

Still looking a little disgusted— granted, the Sorting Hat _did_ look grimy— she answered, "Slyzerin. Is zat bad? Ze last time I was at 'Ogwarts, I 'eard many 'orrible stories of zees Slyzerins. Are zey so bad?" She looked a little frightened at being placed in Slytherin, and Harry couldn't blame her; he'd had that same fear before, as well.

"No, Gabby, they aren't all bad," Bill assured her before Harry could answer. "Those stories are just that; stories. It's true that many Dark Wizards were from Slytherin, but the other Houses have contributed their fair share of evil people, as well."

Harry nodded in agreement, and added, "That's true, Gabby." Then he indicated towards the house. "Draco is a Slytherin, as well, and you know first-hand that he's not as bad as all that."

Gabrielle still looked dubious, but looked greatly relieved at their reassurances. Walking away from Bill and Fleur, Harry and Gabrielle made their way to a corner of the Weasleys' yard and sat on the bench there.

Unlike earlier, Gabrielle didn't purposely brush up against Harry when she sat down, nor did she use her Veela abilities to seduce him. Harry supposed that she was still thinking about being Sorted into Slytherin, and he decided that he should keep quiet, and let her think.

"You know," she said finally, breaking the silence, "I did not zink I would be coming back 'ere; least of all, transferring to 'Ogwarts."

"Then why did you?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself. Realising that he may have sounded a bit rude, he blushed then apologised.

She laughed, and Harry felt a little transfixed; her laughter was like tinkling glass, and he found he loved hearing it. The way her eyes scrunched up and how her full lips parted in laughter made her look more carefree and relaxed than he'd seen her all night. Despite what he'd like to think, she wasn't using her Veela abilities to influence his thoughts, he knew that; and it scared him that he found her so attractive. _What about Draco?_ he screamed at himself. _You swore you'd talk to Draco first! Not find a Veela, and talk to him later!_

"Why not?" she said, after her laughter subsided. Harry was almost sorry that she'd stopped.

"Why not what?" he asked dumbly, his thoughts still lingering on her beauty and the guilt he felt when he thought about Draco.

She gave him a funny look. "Transferring to 'Ogwarts, of course. Were you not listening, 'Arry?"

He almost slapped a hand to his forehead. "Yes," he answered, looking apologetic. "Yes, of course; I'm sorry. I got… distracted."

She shook her head and gave him a small smile. "You really are adorable, 'Arry," she murmured softly, leaning in closer so he could hear her. "It truly is unfortunate zat you do not 'ave a girlfriend." Then she sat upright again, leaning away from Harry.

"Come," she commanded, standing up. She held out her hand towards him to he help him up from the bench. "Let us go. It is late, and I zink your guests would like to speak to you before zey leave."

So at her insistence, Harry went around the Weasleys' yard again, as he'd done earlier, and managed to catch most of his guests before they left.

The last person he saw off was Mrs Tonks, and he was happy to see that she had baby Teddy with her. His hair was no longer as blue as it had been in the picture Remus had taken; he looked as any other baby should.

Given permission to, Harry picked Teddy up from his carriage and held him in his arms. Now that he was up close, Harry could definitely see Remus and Tonks in his features, and he felt a little teary again. Handing him back to Mrs Tonks, he promised he'd visit as often as he could to spend time with the both of them.

Then they made their way into the house where they settled in the living room, making small talk. The more he talked to Gabby, the more he realised what a sweet girl she was. _But she tried charming you_, one part of his mind argued. _Yes, well, she's not doing _that_ again since it didn't work_. On and on again in his mind, he argued with himself. Finally, he just decided to wait and see how else she'd act around him.

By the end of the night, Harry decided that Gabrielle had just been curious; who wasn't when it came to him? Didn't Ginny send him a singing Valentine in second year? How much worse was that compared to Gabrielle's temporary lapse in judgement?

By midnight, Harry was finding the idea of having Gabrielle around in Hogwarts better and better.

"So, Gabby," he began, "did McGonagall tell you where the Phoe— your room will be?"

Her brows furrowed and she pursed her lips before replying. "_Oui_," she answered. "But I do not see why it is we must 'ave ze protection charm at all. Is 'Ogwarts so unsafe zat we need it?"

_So McGonagall didn't tell her the whole story_, he mused. "It belonged to one of Hogwarts' founders," he told her, shrugging and leaning back in his seat. "The charm was put up to keep it as private as possible."

Her bright blue eyes widened slightly and her pink lips formed an 'O'. "But 'ow do you know?" she asked, surprised. "Is the tower so secret?"

Just as he was about to relate his conversation with McGonagall to Gabrielle, Ron, Hermione and Draco walked into the room. Ron and Hermione looked relatively cheerful while Draco looked quite sullen that he'd been stuck with the other two.

"What's a secret?" Ron asked loudly, plopping into the seat next to Harry. Hermione sat next to Gabrielle and Draco, seeing no alternative, sat next to Ron, looking even surlier than he had before.

"Our new quarters," Harry answered simply. "Gabrielle is going to Hogwarts this year, and she's staying in the room next to mine and Draco's."

There was a stunned silence for a while, before Harry's words truly sunk in. What the other three said was a mixture of "But she's _French_"; "Transfer students are allowed?"; "I read about transfer students in the library! But they're so rare."

"Hey!" Harry called out to be heard over the din. "One at a time, please. Don't overwhelm poor Gabby." Then he looked at her and winked. She smiled back at him, all her white, pearly teeth on display. He felt someone's gaze boring into him and when he turned to look, he saw Draco glaring at him, his grey eyes unfathomable. _Oops_, he thought.

Ron spoke up first. "Since when are transfer students allowed?"

"Well," Hermione answered for Gabrielle, "it was done ages ago, when there still weren't that many schools for wizards and witches. Now that there are wizarding schools in every country, there's almost no need for transfers."

"_C'est vrai_," Gabrielle agreed, looking a little displeased that Hermione had answered instead. But she quickly covered it up with a smile, before anyone noticed.

"Have you been Sorted?" This question came for Draco and Harry wasn't the only one who was shocked at his civil question; Ron and Hermione both gave him strange looks. The only one who didn't find it strange was Gabrielle, but, then again, she didn't know him that well.

Gabrielle shrugged slightly, looking a little worried again. "_Oui_, I 'ave been Sorted," she replied, smiling slightly at Draco, obviously trying to hide her discomfort. "Bill, Fleur and I went to see McGonagall to tell 'er about my transfer zen she said I would 'ave to get Sorted first."

"What House were you sorted into?" Ron asked curiously.

Harry saw that the knuckles of Gabrielle's hands had turned even whiter than they already were; she was clenching her fists so hard. He felt bad for her, and had the inexplicable urge to comfort her.

Gabrielle unclenched her fists and folded them properly in her lap. "Slyzerin," she muttered softly, ducking her head and shifting uncomfortably.

There was an awkward silence after her proclamation. On and on it stretched, and no one made a sound. Harry wanted to say something, but he had no idea what he could say to make things better; it seemed that everything he thought he should say would come out worse than wrong.

"Welcome to the House of Slytherin," Draco said unexpectedly. Gabrielle's head snapped up and she looked at him in shock. He stood up and extended a hand towards her. "I'm the unofficial leader of our House, and I formally want to welcome you." Gabrielle got over her shock and gave him a sunny smile. She stood up, too but instead of shaking Draco's hand, she came forward and enveloped him in a hug instead. He was shocked at first, but responded rather quickly by putting his own arms quite stiffly around her waist.

Watching them embrace, however briefly, still made Harry's stomach churn. He wasn't too sure whether it was seeing Draco in the arms of another, or whether it was seeing that Gabrielle had sought comfort in Draco instead of in him. Harry shook his head slightly, trying to dispel his thoughts.

"Zank you, Draco," she said, smiling at him again, pulling away. He nodded slightly, and then they both returned to their seats.

"Where is it?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Where's what?" Harry asked.

"Your 'secret' quarters," she answered patiently. "We asked you about it before we learned of Gabrielle's shocking news."

"We shan't tell you, Granger," Draco announced with relish. "It's none of your business."

Harry shot him an irritated look before turning to Hermione and giving her an apologetic smile. "What he meant," Harry explained, turning to Draco again to glare daggers at him, "was that we can't tell you where it is; it's hidden."

"_Oui_," Gabrielle piped up. "It is protected by ze… 'ow you say… ze _Charme Fidèle?_ I am not so sure 'ow you say zat in Eenglish. Professor McGonagall explained it to us in French."

Ron broke in. "The Fidelius Charm?" he said incredulously. "In _Hogwarts?_ What the ruddy hell for? That place has the best protection spells, second only to Gringotts! Even the emergency dorms she gave us barely have any protections! She's had to send for Filch to get us a security portrait, like the Fat Lady. I imagine we'll be getting that mental knight from before, Sir Cadogan." He shuddered.

Harry had to stifle a chuckle at Ron's outburst. "It's hidden because it used to belong to Godric Gryffindor," he explained. To say that everyone, besides Draco, looked shocked was an understatement.

"_Mais, non!_" Gabrielle exclaimed, raising a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.

Harry quickly explained to them what McGonagall told him and Draco. "And now we're the first to use it in slightly over a thousand years," he said. Then he added, "Merlin knows how much we have to clean. Imagine a thousand years' worth of dust!" He shook his head morosely.

Draco shot him look. "We're _wizards_, Potter," he pointed out. Then he looked at Gabrielle. "And Delacour's a witch. If we can't manage a simple spell like _Tergeo_ then I think we'd all better join the first years in the boats in September."

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**I know a lot of you waited a long time for this update, and I'm sorry I couldn't upload it earlier; classes are crazy!**

**Anyway, thanks to the new followers, the favers(hee... just made up the word :-D ) and the reviewers.**

**And let me know what you think of Gabby; I tried my best not to make her seem too annoying.**

**- greenie. - LOL. 'greenie', indeed. xD**


	7. Important

I'm sorry if I got your hopes up, but this isn't a chapter update, but please read on anyway.

Alright, before I say what I want to, let me just start off by saying that this is _important_ and that you _should_ read it. Please. :-) I'll try to keep it short.

So I've gotten a few reviews about how Draco shouldn't be forgiven so easily and about how the Weasleys wouldn't like him regardless of whether or not he's changed. And also I've just noticed that someone pointed out that Gabrielle should be much younger than sixteen.

Well, I have mentioned a couple times before that my story isn't quite canon. While, yes, some parts are like what they were in the books/movies, but the other parts aren't; so don't waste your time reviewing, or PM-ing me just to tell me I'm wrong. BTW, to the person who pointed out Gabrielle's age, sorry I didn't mention in the A/N that I'd changed her age; I forgot to mention that.

Anyway, when I said that I'd like negative feedback, as well as positive ones of course, I didn't actually mean for you to point out things that should, in your opinion, follow the book. I just meant for you to point out grammatical mistakes, or something. English isn't my first language, so I'd like to learn from mistakes I made.

And when I said to tell me if I missed out on any key HP details, I meant like how they talk, how they carry themselves, or even just the proper spellings for their _names_.

So with that said, please, stop pointing out character flaws, the sheer stupidity of the storyline and what not; if I wrote it exactly like how JK Rowling would, _I_ would be the one rolling in money, not her.

P/S: If I have one more person telling me how I should write _my_ story, I'll just leave the rest of it up to your imaginations, because I'll delete the story.

P/P/S: And I am truly sorry if I sounded harsh; I'm just annoyed that some people are telling me how to write the story. Truth be told, I never even wanted to post a story with slash in it; never thought I could pull it off. In fact, I wanted to post a Gabrielle/Harry one instead. Anyway, it doesn't matter; if enough people tell me they want me to continue, I'll try my best to, despite my crazy schedule. If not, then I'll update only after Christmas/New Year; I don't have the time to work on a story no one wants to read.


	8. VII

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I was at the library when I read them, and now I think my schoolmates think I'm a little off. :-D Anyway, I apologise that this chapter is a little short. It's pretty late over here, and I'm sooo tired; trying to come up with more right is almost impossible.**

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By the time they Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, it was past midnight and Harry and Draco were quite exhausted. They strode into the parlour and sat down heavily on the sofa. A silence stretched between them, and neither seemed willing to break it; that is, until Draco decided to open his mouth.

"That was better than I expected," he said carefully. He looked up at Harry, with a slight sneer on his face. "But I stand by what I said; that house was atrocious. I shan't be going back, not unless it's for something as important as your birthday. Though I'd have to face your—" his sneer became more pronounced "— friends, I would still go for you." He rolled his eyes in irritation. He knew Draco was trying to be nice, but Harry thought that he wasn't making too much of an effort; on top of showing great disdain for his friends, who'd been nothing but nice to Draco, he also made fun of the Weasleys' house, knowing full well that that was all they could afford.

He sighed, feeling exasperation on top of his irritation. What had he expected of the spoilt heir of the Malfoy family? Truth be told, Draco's reaction towards the Weasleys' house was nothing more than Harry had expected of him. After all, he'd been living a decadent life from the moment he was born; he was used to nothing less. And while Grimmauld Place was definitely not as nice, nor as creepy, as Malfoy Manor was, it was still luxurious; Kreacher made sure of that now.

Luxurious homes aside, Draco still hadn't accepted Ron and Hermione, and that alone made Harry even more irritated. They'd been nothing but friendly towards him; Ron not as much as Hermione, though, but that was hardly surprising. Ron has never liked the Malfoy family, just because his father didn't, and likewise Draco; Harry doubted that Draco ever heard anything nice about other non-Dark wizards and witches from his parents.

_If he wants us to be friends_, he thought angrily, _then he'd better get used to Ron and Hermione, the same way I would have to get used to his awful Slytherin friends._ He shuddered slightly, thinking about trying to be nice to Pansy, Blaise and Goyle; they'd made his and his friends' lives at Hogwarts a living hell.

"Duly noted, Malfoy," he said coldly, answering Draco's previous question. "Was there anything else not up to your high standards? The cake, maybe? The food?"

Draco arched his eyebrow, and his sneer intensified. "Gabrielle Delacour," he said darkly. "I don't fancy the idea of my quarters being so close to hers."

Harry, forgetting his anger, raised his eyebrows in confusion. "What have you got against Gabby?" he asked, stunned. "Besides, I could have sworn you welcomed her to the House of Slytherin. Or did I hear you wrongly?"

Draco shook his head angrily. "That was necessary," he insisted. "She's a Slytherin, and, if nothing else, she has to be accepted by every other student in our House."

"Then?" Harry pressed, still confused.

Draco looked at him in annoyed exasperation. "Then what, Potter?" he countered, looking at Harry as thought he was dumb. "Must I have a good reason to dislike that little troll?"

Harry shrugged. "Reasons are neither good nor bad," he replied. "So you either have a reason or you don't; it's as simple as that."

Draco stared at him. "Did you have any Firewhiskey?" he asked. "Because you sound like Dumbledore; and I'm not so sure that's a good thing."

Harry pointedly ignored this. "So any reason why you don't like her?" he asked instead. "For Merlin's sake, you barely even know her; what's there to dislike?"

Draco glared at him. "She's just a… an annoying little girl!" he managed at last, looking as if he was trying to grasp at any reason at all to hate Gabrielle. "And she has absolutely no respect for anyone's personal space. The cheek!" He huffed and crossed his arms across his chest.

"She's sixteen, Draco; we're only a couple of years older than her. She's no more a little girl than you are a little boy," Harry chuckled. "Now, tell me the real reason why you don't like her." He laid a hand on Draco's arm briefly before folding his hands in his lap.

Draco pursed his lips, then sighed in defeat. "She fancies you, you know," he told Harry. "When we were in Weasley's sad excuse for a room and you left me alone with her, she told me that she was secretly mad for you."

He shook his head and turned away from Harry's gaze. "As you know, I… I have—" he cleared his throat "— feelings for you as well, and I don't…" He trailed off.

"She's gorgeous, okay?" he yelled so suddenly that Harry almost fell off the couch. "She's gorgeous, she's smart and she's _French_. How the ruddy hell can I compete with that, huh, Potter?" Draco turned to stare at Harry, and he could see that Draco's eyes were dark with anger.

"And I _saw_ the both of you running off together during the party," he added, his voice dangerously low. "Did you snog her too? What, am I some sort of toy to you?" He sneered at Harry and leaned towards him threateningly.

"You said you'd get things sorted first and then talk to me!" he screamed in Harry's face, not even bothering to wait for a response. Then he quietened and leaned away again, pulling his gaze away from Harry's. When he spoke next, his voice trembled with emotion. "You said you cared." After a brief silence, he shifted and made to get up to leave.

Harry grabbed his arm before he could even get up and pulled him close. Draco struggled, but his efforts were feeble. He wrapped his arms around the still struggling Draco, not caring whether or not he'd get hit in the face.

"Geroff!" Draco snarled. "I swear, Potter, if you don't, I'll hex you! Let me go!" He started struggling even harder, making it hard for Harry to hold on to him.

"I will if you would just _calm down_!" Harry yelled. Slowly, Draco's struggles lessened, and eventually stopped. Still keeping his arms around Draco's rigid body, he pulled him closer, and laid his head on Draco's blond one. "Now that you're more or less relaxed, will you let me explain?"

Draco hesitated, and then nodded jerkily.

Harry sighed. "She is just a friend," he said slowly, enunciating every word properly. "I don't deny that she is gorgeous, but you're different. _We're_ different, Draco." Then he turned Draco to face him properly.

"And I do care about you; I didn't lie about that. I would _never_ lie to you," he murmured softly, tilting Draco's chin up to look directly into his eyes. "You're not a toy, and neither is she; I don't muck about with anyone's feelings.

"If I did," he continued, his expression serious, "I wouldn't have left Ginny."

Draco looked down, away from Harry's intense stare, but then he looked back up, and said quietly, "Okay."

"And just for the record, Malfoy," Harry added quietly, "we didn't snog; she just wanted a quiet moment to think about being Sorted into Slytherin. She was upset; I can understand that."

"Okay," Draco repeated, burying his head in the crook of Harry's neck and tightening his hold around him.

After a long silence, Draco said, quietly, "I'm sorry."

Harry shushed him, and told him it was okay. He looked at Draco and felt his heart twinge; he looked as insecure as he had the night he'd told Harry his parents hadn't approved of their friendship. He looked as weary as he had then and maybe even a little more pale, but that was slightly harder to tell, since Draco was almost always pale. Harry's heart went out to the boy in his arms.

He absently swept Draco's fringe back and tried his best to tuck stray strands away. Wanting to comfort him, and nothing more, Harry gently kissed Draco's forehead. Feeling his lips brush against his forehead, Draco tilted his face up towards Harry's and tried to reach Harry's lips with his own.

Almost instinctively, Harry reached up and grabbed the back of Draco's head gently and pulled him closer, so close that he could hear every breath that Draco took. He was pleased to hear Draco's breathing hitch when he pressed their lips together.

It started out slow, the way Harry thought was right. He moulded his lips to the contours of Draco's, and used his free hand to grip Draco's hip. He felt Draco's hands go from the middle of his back to his waistband, dipping low to tease him, and occasionally rubbing against the back of Harry's jeans.

Harry felt heat rushing to his groin at all the teasing. He growled and went from slowly kissing him to savagely ravishing Draco's lips with his own, forcefully opening them, and forcing his tongue inside. Running his tongue along Draco's and around inside his mouth, he tightened his hold on Draco's head and pulled him even closer. He moaned into Harry's mouth and swirled his tongue around Harry's, wanting more of the pleasure he was trying to give.

Draco broke away from Harry, making Harry utter a low groan of disappointment, which was almost immediately replaced with one of pleasure. Draco skimmed his lips along Harry's jaw, down to his chin, then down his neck. He sucked and bit lightly at the skin, and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist tighter.

He used his lips and his tongue to trail the dip below his neck, and paid just as much attention to it as he'd done Harry's lips. He licked up Harry's neck, then back down again and sucked gently at the base of his neck. He did this over and over again, until Harry's vision blurred from desire. After a while, Harry vaguely noticed Draco tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to get it off.

His mind was so hazy with lust that he let Draco get rid of the article of clothing without a fight. He then pushed Harry down to lie on his back, all the while running his hands along his naked torso. He settled himself on top of Harry and continued his assault on his neck, slowly making way down to his chest. He splayed his fingers over the right side of Harry's chest and took his left nipple into his mouth. He sucked at it, and swirled his tongue around the pink nub, feeling it harden in his mouth. He did the same to the other one, and was pleased to hear Harry's moans of pleasure as he clutched at Draco's hair even harder.

Harry watched as Draco's head sank even lower and continued going down until he was at eye level with his bulge. He ran his finger along it, and Harry gasped, his grasp on Draco's hair tightening further. Somewhere in his lust-filled mind, Harry knew that things were going much farther than he meant them to, but even knowing that made it hard, if not impossible, to stop all the pleasurable things Draco was doing to him.

Draco placed his palm over Harry, and rubbed him slowly. Harry whimpered, wanting nothing more than to have Draco bring him over the edge. He then unbuttoned and unzipped Harry's jeans and pulled them until they were at mid-thigh, now only Harry's briefs in the way of what Draco wanted. He leaned in close and reached a hand out towards Harry's manhood.

"Draco, no. Don't," Harry gasped, his voice coming out breathy. But Draco ignored him and continued on with what he was doing, feeling him through the material of his underwear. Harry gasped as Draco's hand rubbed him even faster. He knew that if he didn't act soon, it would be too late to try and rectify the situation.

With some difficulty, he managed to still Draco's hand and push his head away gently. Resisting at first, Draco grudgingly withdrew, muttering under his breath, and let Harry get properly dressed. Once he was, Harry pulled Draco towards him again and wrapped his arms around him.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologised softly. "We probably shouldn't have done that." He nuzzled his head into the crook of Draco's neck, breathing in the delicious smell of the cologne he always wore. He sighed quietly and contentedly, and closed his eyes, letting Draco's scent wash over him.

Draco body became rigid. "I understand," he said stiffly, now trying to get Harry to let go of him. Harry's head snapped up at Draco's struggles. After his failed efforts, he nearly screamed. "Won't you let me go now that you've had your fun?"

Harry's arms tightened painfully around Draco briefly, making him squeak. "Don't you dare say that," he snarled. "Haven't I already said? You're _not_ a toy, and if you keep insisting that you are one, I swear to Merlin, Draco, I shall transfigure you into one. Do you understand?" Draco nodded slightly. Realising he may have sounded a little harsh, Harry leaned down, and laid a gentle kiss on Draco's forehead, like he'd done earlier.

"I fancy you, you idiot," he continued, his voice no longer filled with anger; just tiredness. "And this… this thing we have; I don't know what to do. I'm trying my _best_ to do what I can and you're not making things any easier.

"Dammit, Draco!" he burst out. "I want to do this right, I want to treat you the way you _should_ be treated, but you're making that bloody impossible!" He loosened his arms around Draco to look directly into his eyes.

"I understand that you've probably had a longer time to think about this than me," Harry continued, "but I haven't, and while all this snogging—" Harry blushed a deep scarlet, thinking about how they'd done _more_ than just snog "— is brilliant, I just… I don't want to be _seduced_ into making a decision you want, Draco."

He sighed heavily, and, fully letting go of Draco now, rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. _When the hell did things get so complicated?_ he asked himself. _I thought that I'd finally get some peace— or some semblance of it— once the War ended._

Draco was silent for a while. "You're right, you know," he said finally. "I _have_ fancied you for a long time. I don't know exactly how long, but long enough to want to keep you alive, regardless of whether or not you fancied me back." He shrugged helplessly.

Harry's eyes widened in shock, but Draco held up a hand so he could continue uninterrupted. "All those times I tried to save you wasn't done out of the goodness of my heart," he added a little bitterly. "I'm _not_ good; I saved you for my own selfish reasons, nothing more."

He leaned back in his seat and avoided looking at Harry. "I've always gotten what I wanted, Potter; I think you know that," he continued, still in that bitter tone. "And I wanted you; what other reason did I have to want to keep you alive? Regardless, you've always managed to evade me. You refused to be my friend, you wanted to kill me—" Harry flushed, remembering the bathroom incident "— and now you're telling me we need space, so you can think."

Then he turned his piercing grey gaze to Harry, pinning him down with his stare. "All of that has just made me want you more," he revealed, now all trace of bitterness gone. "But do you know what else I think, Potter?"

Harry shook his head mutely, thinking that, with the way their conversation was progressing, he didn't want to know at all.

Draco's eyes flashed. "I think that you're just too _scared_ to be with me!" he said hotly. "What you and I have is undeniable. You say that you're trying your _best_ to do what you can, but you and I both know that the only thing you're trying your best to do is get away from me!"

He grabbed the front of Harry's shirt roughly, and kissed him forcefully. "I bloody fancy you, you daft piece of Unicorn dung," he said, kissing Harry in between his words. Then his tone changed, to something much more tender and gentle. "And it hurts to know you want to keep on denying it.

"It hurts to know I'm not worth fighting for," he finished quietly, looking down.

He let go of Harry and stood up, leaving Harry to sit on the couch by himself, looking gobsmacked. "I should go," Draco said softly, and without even waiting for a response, he swept out of the room. Harry distinctly heard the door slam, and he knew then that Draco had left.

That night, he tossed and turned in bed. Every time he opened his eyes, he'd see the dream catcher Draco had gotten him, and he'd feel even guiltier than he already did. To make things worse, Draco's words repeating in his mind. _And it hurts_; _I bloody fancy you_; _you're just too _scared. Harry felt sick to his stomach. He knew, to an extent, that Draco was right; he _was_ too scared to do anything about his feelings. _But what can_ _I do_? he asked himself, frustrated. _I _am_ doing what I can!_

Slamming his fist against his mattress, he got up and out of bed; he'd never be able to fall asleep with all those thoughts running through his mind. He made his way over to the bay window and sat down on the seat. All he could think of looking out over London was Draco and the betrayed look on his face as he left Grimmauld Place. Harry tried telling himself over and over again that Draco would get over it, and that he _was_ doing what he could.

But deep down, Harry knew Draco would _never_ get over it without some closure, and that he _wasn't_ doing what he could. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he also knew that he'd probably just hurt the person he cared about most.

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**Hate it? Love it? Let me know. :-D**


	9. VIII

**So, Merry Christmas, everyone! :-)**

**Sorry it took so long to get this out; my assignments are a pain in the butt.**

**BTW, I tried to make Gabrielle a little more likable in this chapter, so do let me know if I managed that. :-D**

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For the rest of the month, Harry avoided contacting Draco, and, again, turned to his books to distract him. By the time September 1st rolled around, he felt he was somewhat prepared to face his N.E.W.T.s head on, though he secretly wished he was just as ready to face Draco, whom he'd undoubtedly see on the train.

He Apparated to the Burrow early in the morning, with his luggage and Braxton in tow. He was grateful that Ginny was not in sight; instead, Ron, Hermione and Gabrielle greeted him enthusiastically, ushering him inside to have some breakfast before they leave.

"Gabby!" he exclaimed in pleasant surprise as they led him to the kitchen. "When did you get here?" He looked around the Weasleys' kitchen, and his eyes met Ginny's. _Uh-oh_, he thought, as Ginny sent him a death glare. But despite that, he tried not to let her get to him, so instead of paying attention to her, he focused instead on Gabby, who was a great deal more pleasant to deal with.

"I arrived yesterday," she replied, taking a seat at the table, while Ron and Hermione took the seats opposite her, next to Ginny. She patted the seat next to her, inviting him to join her. "Come and sit, 'Arry; I won't bite." Then she giggled.

Harry smiled a little and then sat beside her. "So are you excited?" he asked, pulling a plate of toast towards him. He offered some to Gabby and she took a couple slices.

Gabrielle shrugged slightly, reaching for the butter. "Well, yes," she said carefully, "but I am not so excited about ze Slyzerin part." She turned her eyes towards the toast she was slowly buttering, pursing her lips.

"Don't worry about it," Ron interjected with his mouth full of toast. "You're already mates with the ringleader of the Slytherins; Malfoy. You'll get along fine." He wiped his greasy mouth with the back of hand.

"Ron," Hermione chided gently, "don't speak with your mouth full.

"But speaking of Draco, where is he?" Hermione asked casually, as she spread butter on her toast. She looked up at him through her lashes and quirked an eyebrow.

Harry choked on his own toast, but managed to swallow. "I don't know," he coughed out at last, shrugging. "At the Manor, I suppose."

"Is he meeting us at the station?" Hermione pressed.

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly, avoiding Hermione's stare.

Hermione stared at him a moment longer, but Harry was saved by further interrogation when Ron interrupted by saying, "Do you think Neville and Luna would want to sit with us on the train?"

And that ended their conversation about Draco. After breakfast, they Apparated to King's Cross. Harry was pleased to see that George decided to accompany them, despite Mrs Weasley's insistence that he stay home and rest.

"Mum!" George protested exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "I'm _fine_. Let's just go before they're late."

At the mention of Harry and the rest being late convinced Mrs Weasley to let George tag along. Being the only one in the group not knowing how to do it on her own, Gabrielle was forced to do Side-Along Apparition with Harry.

They were amongst the first to reach the train that day, and Harry was relieved when he saw that Draco was not one of the early ones. Waving goodbye to George and Mrs Weasley, he hurried along the side of the train with the others, in search of an empty compartment.

When they found one, they took their time loading in their stuff. Once they were set, they crammed themselves into their seats, Ron and Gabrielle on either side of Harry, and the other two sitting opposite them. About ten minutes after they'd boarded, the train started to move, on its way to Hogwarts.

Harry tried his best to act normal, as if Ginny wasn't sending him death glares every time she thought he was looking her way. He chatted with the other three about mundane things, like the things he'd been doing at Grimmauld Place, which mostly consisted of studying.

"I swear, Harry," Ron said in mock disgust, "you're turning into Hermione." He shook his head sadly, his lips twitching.

Hermione leaned over and swatted his arm playfully. "At least he's bothered to open a book," she retorted, a playful smile on her face. "What were _you_ up to during the summer? Oh wait, never mind; I know. We _both_ know." Then she started giggling.

Ron turned as red as his hair, and was spluttering something unintelligible. Harry was just as red, but his embarrassment couldn't match his shock. _Did _Hermione_ just make a sexual innuendo?_ he thought incredulously. He chanced a quick glance at Ginny, and saw that she was just as red as her brother, and avoided looking at either of them.

Making up his mind, Harry got up and said, "Err… I'm going to find Malfoy." Though he had no intention whatsoever to do so, he wanted to get out of there before he heard anything else he didn't want to know.

"And I'm going to… to find Romilda," Ginny piped up. She got up too, and swept past Harry out into the hallway.

"And is no one going to invite me to meet zeir friends?" Gabrielle asked teasingly. "'Arry, could I accompany you to see Draco?"

Harry felt he had no choice but to agree, so he let Gabrielle follow him out the compartment, leaving Ron and Hermione to their verbal foreplay. Walking down the hall, with Gabrielle walking slightly behind him, he was searching for an empty compartment to sit in until they reached Hogwarts.

Fortunately, they found one rather quickly. Harry tried not to think about it, but he was fairly sure that it was empty because so many lives had been lost that night. _Don't think about it_, he growled at himself. He pushed open the compartment door and sat down on the seat heavily and looked out the window.

Though he tried to fight it, thoughts of that morning flooded his mind; this time it was worse, because he was actually going back to the place where he'd seen his friends die. So troubled were his thoughts that when he felt Gabrielle fit her hand into his, and lean her head against his shoulder, he welcomed it; he needed comfort more than anything right then.

"I assume you want to be alone?" Gabrielle queried. Harry nodded and then shook his head, not trusting his voice enough to speak out loud.

"Why do you look so sad, 'Arry?" she asked softly. "_Maman_ always said nevair to keep zings on ze eenside, or as you may say, eenside ze err… bottle?" She chuckled at her phrasing, and hearing her melodic laughter made his lips turn up in a slight smile.

He sighed, the weight of his thoughts pressing in on him again. "It's just hard to go back, Gabby," he admitted, squeezing her hand and turning his head to look at her. "I saw so many of my friends die; I'm not so sure how I can go back without reliving the nightmares."

She pursed her lips and knit her brows. "At least you will not be alone in zat, right?" she said at last, looking at him from under her long lashes. "Everyone 'oo was eenvolved will 'ave nightmares." She shuddered.

"I am certain I would 'ave 'ad nightmares if I 'ad been zair for ze war, as well," she added a little thoughtfully. Then she lifted her head from his shoulder and shifted her body so it was angled towards him. "It is okay to 'ave nightmares, 'Arry; no one is above zat." Her eyes now downcast, she looked away from him.

"I 'ave nightmares, too," she whispered, raising her free hand to chew on her knuckle. Then she turned back to him, her eyes now brimming with tears. "Ze Dark Lord spared no one! 'E… 'e was so cruel. I am not one to be so 'arsh, but I am _très_ 'appy 'e is dead." Still shiny with tears, her eyes turned hard and lips became pinched in anger.

_Nightmares?_ he wondered. _She has nightmares? But why? And why does she look so angry?_ "What happened, Gabby? Did he do something to you?" he asked her, concerned.

She nodded, and then shook her head. "_Oui_, _mais_… Not exactly," she answered cryptically. "Did you evair 'ear 'im speak ze name Savel?" As soon as the name left her lips, her face fell, and her bottom lip started to tremble. Her eyes filled with tears again, gathering on the tips of her lashes.

He shook his head no, the confusion in his eyes intensifying. He had never seen Gabrielle like this, ever; she was always happy and confident. What could make her feel the way she does now, he could not imagine.

She sniffed and brought up a sleeve to wipe at her eyes. "'E was a Death Eater," she revealed, still sniffling. "After ze first Wizarding War, after ze Dark Lord fell, 'e changed sides, and moved back to France; needless to say, 'E-'Oo-Must-Not-Be-Named was not so 'appy wiz _Monsieur Savel_'s decision when 'e came back from… wherevair it is 'e came back from." She waved a hand in the air dismissively.

"'E punished _Monsieur Savel_ severely for 'is betrayal," she went on, a faraway look now entering her eyes. "But You-Know-'Oo decided not to kill 'im. 'E thought zat too easy, too quick; as far as 'e was concairned, death was not punishment enough." Then she paused, lost in thought.

"Then what happened, Gabby?" he prodded gently after a while.

Her eyes lost that faraway look, and she focused her attention back on him, her blue eyes intense. "'E 'ad a son, you know," she said softly. "'Is name was Aldric." She said the name with such fondness, that it was obvious she was rather attached to this guy.

Harry's eyes widened. "Voldemort had a son?" he asked, shocked.

Gabby looked startled, then understanding dawned on her features. She smiled slightly. "_Non_, 'Arry," she replied, chuckling. "Aldric Savel, _Monsieur Savel_'s son.

"Aldric and I, we were ze best of friends," she carried on, now a fond smile on her face. "We 'ad known each uzzer for many years. 'E was tall, 'andsome, smart and very kind; just like you, 'Arry. 'E was very much like you." She looked at him now, still with that smile on her face. Harry refused to meet her eyes, trying to hide his face as it reddened.

Ignoring his blush, Harry thought over what she'd just said. _He _was_ tall? He _was_ handsome? Why was? _he asked himself. Then as he thought about it, his stomach lurched, and he felt like gagging. He wanted to believe otherwise, but he knew that Voldemort was capable of such unspeakable acts.

So as not to worry Gabby, he did his best to ignore the sudden nausea. "Tell me about him," he said gently. "What happened?"

Gabrielle took a steadying breath. "You-Know-'Oo murdered 'im," she replied quietly. She looked down at their clasped hands. "'E wanted _Monsieur Savel_ to feel ze pain of loss. It was so 'orrible for 'im; 'is wife was dead, and then 'is only son died at ze 'ands of 'is former master. He was all alone in zis world.

"And ze Dark Lord, 'e told me—"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, his eyes wide. "Voldemort _spoke_ to you?"

She nodded, tears splashing freely down her cheeks now. "It was so scary, 'Arry," she admitted, fear in her voice now. "I was in my bedroom, about to sleep, when 'e suddenly appeared. I 'ad ze bed covers up to my chin, I was so frightened." She shuddered violently as the memories of that night played through her mind.

Squeezing her hand encouragingly, he pressed gently, "What happened next, Gabby?"

She looked at him then, her eyes looking haunted. "'E pointed 'is wand at me, and told me of Aldric's death, 'ow 'e 'ad seen my face in 'is last thoughts," she snivelled, her shoulders heaving as her sobbing continued. She slipped her hand out of Harry's and covered her face with both hands.

"'E said 'e 'ad intentions of killing me, but zen 'e said zat ze pain I would feel over Aldric's death would be more satisfying to him zan my death," she went on bitterly, her voice slightly muffled. "And zat is how I knew of 'is plan of vengeance; 'e told me everything. _Monsieur Savel_ became catatonic; 'e would not speak when spoken to, nor would 'e get up to do 'is normal routines." She shook her head woefully, tears still streaming down her face. She put down her hands and folded them in her lap, twiddling her thumbs.

"'E-'Oo-Must-Not-Be-Named told me zat while it was not as good a reaction as 'e 'ad 'oped," she said, still shivering slightly, "'e would make a good example to ze uzzer Death Eaters."

She paused then spoke again in a more stable voice. "While 'e was in my room, revealing 'is mad plan to me, I kept very quiet; as still as death," she confessed, "but when 'e left, I cried." She started crying even harder than before.

"I was crying for _Monsieur Savel_, I was crying out of fear, but mostly I was crying for my dearest Aldric," she cried sorrowfully, ducking her head, her shoulders racked with sobs. Harry gathered her into his arms and hugged her, rubbing soothing circles into her back. "It was so unfair zat 'e 'ad to die, while I 'ad to live."

"Shh," he soothed. "It's okay. Aldric is happy now, Gabby; I promise you that. He feels no more pain."

"It is not okay, 'Arry!" she cried into his robes, her voice barely audible. "'E was at ze foot of my bed, 'is wand in my face, and 'e was telling me about my best friend's death. 'Ow is zat okay?"

She pressed her face deeper into his robes, and cried harder. She wrapped her arms around him in a death grip. He leaned his head on her shoulder, closed his eyes and held her closer. He continued trying to soothe her, to whisper reassuring things, but that only made her sob even more, so he thought that maybe keeping quiet would be of more comfort instead.

True enough, her sobs gradually died, until only a few stray tears leaked from her eyes. He patted her back gently a few more times before leaning back to look into her face. Her eyes were slightly puffy and looked teary, but otherwise she looked as she always did; beautiful.

Just as he'd done to comfort Draco, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead, but unlike his time with Draco, he did not go any further with Gabrielle. He sighed inwardly. He missed Draco, he knew that, but he had no idea how to approach him now he had made a mess of things.

He shoved thoughts of all that out of his mind. _Now isn't the time_, he scolded himself. _Gabby needs you_. He brushed her hair back, and tucked a few strands behind her ear. She looked up at him, through her lashes weighed down with tears and smiled thinly.

"I am so sorry," she sniffed, wiping away her tears on her sleeves. "We were talking about you and ze nightmares, and zen I 'ad to make zings about me; I apologise for being so selfish." She disentangled herself from his arms and turned away.

He laid a hand on her shoulder and forced her to look back at him. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "Like your mother said, it's not good to keep such things on the inside. You weren't being selfish, and I was happy to listen. In fact, I'm glad you told me."

"Truly?" she said disbelievingly.

"Truly," he confirmed. "Telling others about your fears isn't selfish, so don't even think for one second that you are." He chucked her under her chin, and smiled at her encouragingly. She smiled back, albeit tearfully.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, mostly because Gabrielle had fallen asleep, with her head resting in Harry's lap. Gabrielle did not stir, even when Harry ran his fingers through her hair or when the train rocked back and forth. He supposed that telling her story and crying had really taken a lot out of the young witch.

Though he quite missed hearing her voice, he still managed to thoroughly enjoy the quiet, using the time to contemplate how he'd handle classes and Quidditch practice. He was very relieved that he'd had a head start on their studies; if he hadn't studied earlier, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to handle the work load.

All too soon, his peace was broken by the realisation that the train was slowing down. He stretched, careful not to throw Gabrielle off his lap by accident. Then he bent down slightly and shook her gently, waking her up to tell her that they would be there soon.

She sat up, bleary-eyed, her tresses still looking as smooth and neat as they'd been before she'd fallen asleep. She smoothed out her already smooth robes and then stood up and stretched her arms out. She looked back at him, and cocked her head to the side.

"I fell asleep?" she asked, baffled. She ran her fingers through her hair. "I do not remember sleeping. I remember talking, and nuzzing else."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, you fell asleep not too long after we'd finished talking," he revealed. "I didn't want to wake you, so I let you sleep." He shrugged and offered her a smile.

She smiled back at him. She looked out the window, at the castle looming closer and closer. "I truly am 'ere," she murmured quietly, as if speaking to herself. Then she looked back at Harry with an almost desperate gleam in her eye.

"Please do not leave my side, 'Arry," she begged, grabbing at his arm, when he stood up to join her. "I am so new, and I… I am afraid." She ducked her head and hid her face behind her curtain of hair.

Harry tried to peer into her face, but she had it well-hidden. "Why are you afraid?" he asked, knitting his brows.

"What if… what if zey do not like me?" she fretted. Then she looked up at him with fear in her eyes. "What if zey want me to do Dark Magic?"

Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement, and his lips twitched. "Gabby," he chuckled, "they wouldn't even _dare_ to try and use Dark Magic now, so soon after the Dark Lord's fall."

"Why is zat?" she queried, as they made their way out of the compartment.

"Well," he began, "Voldemort was deemed as one of the most powerful Dark Wizards ever; if he could be defeated, what more a bunch of school students who don't even know half the spells Voldemort knew?"

At this, Gabrielle looked a great deal more cheerful. "Ah," she said, a gleam entering her eyes and a smile lighting up her face, "and I suppose it also 'as nuzzing to do wiz ze fact zat you, ze wizard 'oo bested 'E-'Oo-Must-Not-Be-Named in a duel, will be in 'Ogwarts, looking out for ze rest of us?"

But then almost immediately, she became sombre again; the old Gabby replaced by the new, insecure one. "Regardless," she continued in a more subdued tone, "will you promise not to leave my side?"

"I promise," he assured her. "I could even sit with you at the Slytherin table; I'm sure Professor McGonagall would understand. Anyway, it would make finding you, Draco and I much easier, if we all sat one table. She has to show us where the tower is; we wouldn't be able to otherwise."

He led the way to their old compartment, and, upon reaching it, found it empty, except for his and Gabrielle's things, and their owls. They took them, and quickly climbed off the train. Harry looked around when he was outside, acutely aware of a few stares being shot his way. He ignored them and their whispers, and tried looking for a flash of red hair, or for Hermione's brown, bushy hair.

Failing to see his friends, they continued on and left their things where they would be collected later on. He then led Gabrielle to one of the carriages that would bring them up to the castle. At first, she shrieked when she saw the thestrals, but calmed somewhat when Harry reassured her that they meant her no harm.

Once settled comfortably inside, she asked him, "What are zose zings?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "They're thestrals," he answered then he cleared his throat. "They… they can only be seen by those who have seen death." He looked up at her, watching for a reaction to his words.

She looked down at her clasped hands and said, quietly, "Oh."

Harry didn't think he should press the matter, so he let it slide. Luckily, the ride up to the castle was quite short, and they got there before the silence between them got too obvious.

Stopping outside the doors, Harry stepped out of the carriage, and then held out his hand to help Gabrielle down. Instead of letting go, she tightened her grip on his hand as they walked up the stairs and into the hall. Harry wasn't too sure whether or not he was comfortable with this or not, but he chose not to say anything.

Once inside the Entrance Hall, Gabrielle pulled him off to the side, out of the way of the throng of students bustling in. She whispered to him urgently, "I am sorry if I make you uncomfortable by 'olding on to you, but I…" She trailed off, looking troubled. "Please, just zis once." She looked up at him, her wide blue eyes pleading with him.

Harry shuffled his feet uneasily, acutely aware of the stares of everyone who passed by. "Of course, Gabby," he murmured a little awkwardly, avoiding her eyes. "It's no trouble."

So, hand in hand, they entered the Great Hall. He led her to the Slytherin table, and, as promised, sat next to her. Just as he expected, some of the Slytherins were either sending him curious glances, or death glares.

Ignoring them, he looked around the table, and saw Draco not too far away, sitting next to Zabini and Parkinson, talking rather animatedly. He felt Harry's stare, and turned to look. Draco's eyes hardened slightly before turning away. He pointedly ignored Harry, even going so far as to pay attention to what Parkinson was whispering in his ear, even though Harry knew for a fact that Draco couldn't give a rat's arse about what she said.

Looking away, he looked at Gabby, and saw that her eyes were slightly wide in fear. Squeezing her fingers reassuringly, he whispered into her ear that things will be okay. Looking a little more reassured, she shot him a wavering smile and squeezed his hand which was still clasped in hers.

Then he looked towards the High Table, and half expected to see Snape leering at him for even daring to sit at his House's table. It was only when he remembered that he'd seen Snape die before his very eyes that he stopped looking for his easily recognisable hooked nose, or greasy black hair. Trying to ignore the unease he felt every time he thought about Snape, he instead looked around for someone he thought might be the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, and saw a rather fit man sitting next to Hagrid. He and Hagrid were deep in conversation and didn't notice Harry's stare. Then he saw that McGonagall was staring at him. Catching her eye, she nodded her head curtly, acknowledging him.

Just then, Professor Flitwick made his way into the Great Hall, with all the first years trailing behind him. He led them to the front of the hall, where the Sorting Hat, which Harry had just noticed was there, was sitting atop a stool.

Gabrielle leaned in close to whisper into Harry's ear. "It is zat 'ideous 'at!" she whispered, her eyes slightly wide. "Are zose poor leetle children going to put it on zeir heads, as well?"

He was about to turn to her to reply when the Sorting Hat started to sing.

"_Here we are again,  
At dear old Hogwarts,  
Do you know what I am?  
A magical hat, of sorts._

_I have a duty here in Hogwarts,  
To Sort you where you belong,  
"Will that work?" you ask,  
Well, the Sorting Hat is never wrong!_

_I could put you in Gryffindor,  
Where bravery is liked best  
And daring and courageousness  
Are revered above all the rest._

_Or maybe in Ravenclaw  
Who prizes wisdom and intelligence,  
She chooses those who are sharp  
And scorns those with negligence._

_But what about Hufflepuff  
Who values none above the other?  
She took the rest of those  
Whom she thought were hard workers._

_Or you might belong in Slytherin  
Where you will find those like you,  
If you have great ambition  
Slytherin will see you through!_

_So which will it be for you?  
Come forward and give it a try!  
Trust me, you won't regret it,  
Put me on and don't be shy!"_

When the hat had finished its song, the hall erupted into applause, and even Gabrielle joined in. The hat, as it usually did, bowed to each of the four tables assembled, and then became still again.

"What now?" Gabrielle asked him.

He turned towards her and answered, "The Sorting is about to begin. Look!" He pointed at Professor Flitwick, who had a scroll in hands.

"Come up here when I call your name, so you can get Sorted!" he called out in his squeaky voice as he unfurled the scroll. He adjusted his spectacles and read out the first name. "Ackerman, Gabriel!"

A short, skinny boy with freckles walked over to the stool and put on the hat. "GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

The Gryffindor table erupted into large applause and cheers as Gabriel went to join them. Harry could see Ron along with a few other Gryffindors standing up to shake Gabriel's hand and officially welcome him. He was quite sorry that he wasn't there with them, right now. He'd have gone, but he already promised Gabrielle he wouldn't leave her side. _Besides_, he rationalised, _we're being shown our rooms after this. There's no point in splitting up now and regrouping later; that would be too much trouble._

"Harlow, Heather!"

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat shouted.

Every Slytherin surrounding him burst into deafening applause and shouts. Reluctantly, Harry let go of Gabrielle's hand and clapped along with everyone else. Gabrielle clapped as well, but unlike every other Slytherin, she did it out of obligation, not enthusiasm. _I should have Draco talk to her_, he mused. _Maybe he could convince her that being a Slytherin isn't all that bad. That is, if he'll even talk to _me.

Kylie Woodward, who was put into Gryffindor, was the last to be Sorted. As soon as she joined the Gryffindor table, every table filled itself with food.

McGonagall stood up then, and said to all of them, "Now that that's over, let us eat!"

Harry tucked in with gusto; it had been a long time since the toast at the Weasleys'. He looked over at Gabrielle and saw that she was enjoying the food just as much as he was. _Good to know she appreciates the food more than Fleur did_, he thought, as he recalled Fleur talking about how she didn't like the food at Hogwarts.

Once the feast was over, McGonagall stood up and addressed the students.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts!" she called out, once the din had quietened. "It is good to see all of your faces, as well as the faces of our new students.

"Now that your thirst has been quenched and your hunger sated ," she continued, "let me introduce my new colleague, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Alexander Fairchild!"

The man he'd noticed earlier stood up. He was tall, and true to Harry's earlier observation, he was also fit. He bowed slightly to the students and smiled. It reminded him very much of Gilderoy Lockhart's smile but, unlike Lockhart's, Fairchild's was full of warmth and welcome. He then sat back down again, and let McGonagall continue with her speech.

"As all of you must know," McGonagall began, "a battle took place right here in Hogwarts, and many of our own perished in it.

"In honour of their admirable sacrifice," she continued in a solemn voice, "let us have a moment of silence."

Murmurs of agreement broke out around the hall. McGonagall bowed her head in respect to the dead and everyone else followed suit. He sat with his head bowed, thinking of all those who died. Again, the feeling of depression pressed in on him, worse than ever now that he was at the place where his friends had died, but he tried to fight it off as much as he could. _It wasn't my fault_, he chanted over and over in his thoughts. As if sensing his inner turmoil, Gabrielle reached over and grasped his hand tight in hers. He squeezed back, grateful for the little comfort she offered.

"Now let us go on to our rooms and rest our weary heads; it has been a long day, and every one of you has classes tomorrow," McGonagall's voice broke through the silence. Harry's head lifted and he looked around him. Some people were crying, but most just looked tired; as if they couldn't wait to forget what had happened in Hogwarts.

His eyes met McGonagall's as they'd done before the Sorting and she nodded again. She swept down the aisle, towards the oak doors and Harry knew then that she wanted him to follow. He turned towards Gabrielle, and saw, to his surprise, that she was crying silently.

He felt so bad for her, that he almost didn't want to tell her they had to go. "Gabby, we have to go," he murmured gently, squeezing her hand. "We probably shouldn't make Professor McGonagall wait."

Gabrielle sniffed. "Okay," she agreed quietly.

They left the Great Hall, and made their way up to the third floor. They walked on towards where the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was, and saw Draco and McGonagall waiting impatiently at the end of the hall for them.

They ran towards the pair and came to a stop in front of them, panting slightly. He turned to look at McGonagall and she quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Draco, on the other hand, absolutely refused to look at Harry. Harry sighed inwardly. _He can't possibly keep this up, can he?_ he wondered to himself.

McGonagall regarded them all. "Now that we're all here, shall we begin?" she said brusquely. Without waiting for a reply, she held out her wand towards a seemingly blank section of the wall. "Pay very close attention to what I do, all of you; you will have to do this all by yourselves the next time.

"_Aperio!_" she called out clearly, pointing her wand tip at the wall. At first there was nothing, but almost immediately something started to happen. The bricks there folded in on themselves, moving and rearranging themselves until they were staring at an oak door.

McGonagall gestured at the door. "You may go up now," she told them, and smiled a little at their slightly awestruck expressions.

"But what if someone knows what charm to use on ze door?" Gabrielle asked.

McGonagall answered simply, "It won't matter; the door will only reveal itself to you three now.

"No matter how many times they cast the Apertum Charm," she added, "nothing will happen. They'd have to be shown where, and how, to do it for them to access the tower.

"And on top of that, they'd have to be told the secret location by me, the Secret-Keeper," she continued, snorting, "which I won't do, obviously, not unless you want me to. Very ingenious of Gryffindor, was it not?"

They agreed without hesitating; it truly was an amazing manipulation of magic on Gryffindor's part. Not only did he bewitch the rooms to change according to what he wanted, he also cast a slightly modified version of the Fidelius Charm on the rooms. _Merlin knows what else he did_, he thought wonderingly.

McGonagall left them then, but not before telling them to have a good night's sleep. Harry turned towards the other two. Gabrielle and Draco were both in front of their luggage, trying to figure out a way to bring them up the flights of stairs.

Draco then took out his wand and muttered a spell under his breath directed at his trunk. It rose up off the floor and waited patiently while Draco pulled open the oak door before it went up the stairs ahead of him.

After Draco was out of sight, Harry turned back to Gabrielle to see her giving him a puzzled look, silently asking him why Draco was being so cold. Harry shrugged and shook his head slightly.

Wisely changing the subject, Gabrielle asked, "So 'ow do we get zese zings upstairs?" She gestured at their trunks then at the stairs. "What was zat spell Draco used?"

Harry flicked his wand at his and Gabrielle's trunks and cast the spell just by thinking it. "That spell," he answered her, smirking, as their trunks obediently went up the stairs ahead of them. "It's called the Locomotor Charm."

Gabrielle looked at him with something akin to adoration in her eyes. Looking at that, it made Harry remember Draco's word; _"She fancies you, you know"_. "_Oh_," she said, "zat charm. I know of it.

"Did you say ze spell?" she asked, as they made their way upstairs. "Because I did not 'ear anyzing."

"No," he answered, as they started up the second flight of stairs. "Non-verbal spell."

Then he flashed a grin at her. "You'll be learning that this year," he told her. "It's tough, though."

Finally reaching their rooms after climbing the third flight of stairs, Harry lowered their trunks to the floor in front of the doors. Draco was already there, leaning his back against the wall, looking bored.

"It's about time," he drawled, casting a disdainful glance at Gabrielle before glaring at Harry. "What took you? Someone hex you, Potty? Pity I didn't do it." He chortled.

"And what about you, Delacour?" he sneered, turning towards Gabrielle. "Too busy using your Veela charms to notice you were moving as quickly as a snail?" He shook his head in mock sadness, smirking snidely.

"Now hurry up and choose a room," he snapped, his smirk fading, "and stop dawdling."

Harry bristled, but chose not to say anything much. _If Draco wants a confrontation_, he thought, _it won't be in front of Gabby; it's between us_. "Shut it, Malfoy," he said, rolling his eyes. "We did nothing to you, so why don't _you_ pick a room first and just clear off?"

Draco glared at him and took a step closer to Harry. "Nothing?" he repeated in disbelief. "What do you mean, nothing? _She_—" he pointed an accusing finger at Gabrielle "— used her Allure on you, and you say it's nothing?

"And _you_," he continued heatedly, now looking straight into Harry's eyes, "you know _exactly_ what you did; if you're too much of an idiot to realise what it was, then I won't tell you." He shook his head in disgust, and turned away from the both of them.

Acting as if Draco hadn't said anything at all, Harry turned to Gabrielle. "Go on and pick a room, Gabby," he urged quietly.

Gabrielle looked at him as if he'd just lost his mind. Harry couldn't blame her; he'd stared down Dementors, Death Eaters and Voldemort, just to name a few, and here he was, avoiding a confrontation with someone he could beat with his wand arm tied behind his back. If he were Gabrielle, he'd be stunned too. Then she turned towards Draco.

"What is it, Draco?" she said to him angrily, stepping up to him. Being a few inches shorter than Draco, she had to look up to glare at him. "Do you 'ave a somezing against me? Or against 'Arry?"

Draco stared at her, disgust in his grey eyes. "Technically, no," he answered, a sneer on his face. "I just hate half-bloods like him— the taint of Muggle blood makes my skin crawl— and I absolutely despise half-breeds. _Freaks_ like _you_ shouldn't even exist." With that, he turned on his heel, picked the door farthest to the left and went in, his trunk trailing behind him.

Harry was just as dumbstruck as Gabrielle was. He hadn't expected Draco to say that; maybe the old Draco would, but not the one Harry had gotten to know after the Battle.

After he got over his shock, Harry started to feel angry. _What right did he have to go off on Gabby like that? _he silently fumed. _If he's going to be angry, it should be directed at _me_, not at her._ Harry shook his head in disbelief. He thought that maybe he'd talk to Draco after they'd moved in, but after what he'd just done, Harry would rather face Voldemort again than talk to Draco.

"C'mon," he said a little gruffly to Gabrielle, who still hadn't moved, "I'll help you move your things."

Gabrielle broke out of her trance, and moved robotically towards the room farthest on the right. Harry couldn't blame her for choosing that room; it was the one farthest from Draco's. She opened the door and went in ahead of Harry.

Harry followed closely behind her and flicked his wand at Gabrielle's trunk, making it trail behind him. The room was dark and he couldn't see where Gabrielle had gone. He made the tip of his wand light up, and looked around the room, and was stunned at how huge it was.

Harry noted that the room had a vaulted ceiling and had a chandelier hanging from it, with unlit candles in its holders. He set Gabrielle's trunk down and then he pointed his wand at the candles and lit them so he could see the room better.

"_Nox_," he muttered when the light of the candles illuminated the room, extinguishing the light from his wand. He looked around the room, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't, as he'd assumed, filled with dust. It was actually very clean and very girly. He supposed that Gabrielle had had this room in mind when she walked in.

The floor was covered with thick carpet and was coloured a deep, dark red; the colour of wine. The walls were covered in dusty pink wallpaper decorated rather sparsely with tiny flowers. There was a polished wooden table off to one side, with four chairs tucked underneath it. He saw a couple wooden doors leading off to different rooms, and Harry could only assume that they led off to Gabrielle's bedroom and what not.

There was a fireplace against the wall, but it was unlit and in front of it was a large white couch. He didn't notice at first, but Gabrielle was cuddled up in the corner, staring blankly into the empty fireplace.

Concerned, he made his way over to Gabrielle and sat down beside her. He kept silent, waiting patiently for her to talk. It was obvious that she was still upset over what Draco had said earlier, and he couldn't blame her.

"'Arry," she broke the silence with the single quiet utterance of his name. She looked at him, her blue eyes imploring him. "I am sorry."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Why are you sorry?" he asked in astonishment. "You have nothing to be sorry for! If anything, it's Draco who's supposed to be sorry. He called you a…" He trailed off, not wanting to continue his sentence.

Gabrielle shook her head. "I am not talking about zat, 'Arry," she said, looking away from him. "I am talking about what happened in Ron's room, when I—" she looked at him then, her blue eyes filled with regret "— tried to use my Allure on you."

Harry sat there, stunned, as she continued speaking. "It was just…" She hesitated, looking down at her lap where her hands were clasped. "You just remind me so much of him, 'Arry; I couldn't… I couldn't help it."

He shook himself out of his shock, and said simply, "It's okay."

She looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean, it is okay?" she demanded disbelievingly. "It is _not_ okay, 'Arry. _Maman_ would always said not to use it for our own selfish gains, and _zat_, 'Arry, was me being selfish." She wrapped her arms around herself and breathed in deeply.

"I was being very selfish, 'Arry, trust me," she sighed.

"Why?" Harry finally asked.

Gabrielle arched her eyebrow. "Why am I selfish?" she said, snorting. "Zat is not such an easy question to answer, 'Arry, but I suppose it is because—"

"No, that's not what I meant," Harry interrupted. "I meant, why did you use your charms on me? What did you mean when you said I reminded you so much of him? Who's him?"

She shrugged, looking sheepish now. "You reminded me of Aldric," she admitted, looking a little pained as she thought about her friend. "We were… more zan just a little close, 'Arry; I was in love wiz 'im and 'e loved me." She averted Harry's gaze and instead looked into the empty fireplace.

"'E wanted so much to be wiz me," she continued in a subdued voice, looking defeated now. "But I did not want to rush zings." She let out a mirthless laugh and shook her head slightly.

"If I 'ad known how leetle time we 'ad left," she went on, "I would not 'ave 'esitated so." She took a deep breath.

"So when I saw you—" she looked at him and smiled "— my 'eart was overjoyed. You two do not look alike, not exactly, but ze both of you 'ave ze same smile, ze same kind eyes and ze same way of carrying yourselves; it was like seeing my dear Aldric again."

Her smile turned sad, and so did her eyes as she said, "And ze reason I used my powers was because I just wanted zat one kiss I nevair got from 'im, before 'e… before 'e…" She trailed off, sobbing quietly. Harry's heart twinged at the sight in front of him. Not wanting to confuse her feelings for him, Harry stayed right where he was. He just laid a hand on her arm briefly before withdrawing.

"I know zat is no excuse," she said once gained a little more control of herself, "but I… I just feel so bad! 'E was taken away from me much too soon, before we evair 'ad ze chance to be togezzer. But never mind zat; 'e was just so young! If nuzzing else, zen 'is death should be mourned because of zat.

"It is so hard," she murmured quietly, hiccupping. "Ze Dark Lord… 'e was so cruel."

"I know," Harry agreed softly, not knowing what else to say.

Gabrielle took out her wand and conjured herself a handkerchief and dabbed it at her eyes. She then conjured herself a blanket and covered herself with it, snuggling into it. Then she looked at Harry, her eyes red-rimmed.

"Could you…" Her voice cracked as she tried to speak. She cleared her throat then tried again. "Could you… leave me by myself, 'Arry? I just… want to be alone right now."

"Of course," Harry said immediately, as she turned her face away from his. As he made his way towards the door, he turned back and looked at Gabrielle. "For what it's worth, I understand why you did what you did."

Then he turned and walked out the door.

* * *

**Nothing much to say except that I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Oh, and a Happy early New Year, everybody!**

**P/S: Sorry for making Draco seem like such an ass. He'll be nice soon enough. Hehe.**

**P/P/S: Sorry I deleted this chapter and reuploaded it; I thought I'd forgotten to add something.**

**- greenie ;-)**


	10. Hey guys (not an update)

Hey guys, sorry I've not updated since Christmas. I've been so busy lately; I've barely had time to sleep. And according to my lecturer, it's just going to get even worse as we all progress through the semester.

And just to prove to you how busy I am, I'll tell you how many subjects I have to take up this semester; 8 subjects, and I also joined the debate club. We meet twice a week, and we have to come up with arguments and counter-arguments for at least 3 different motions after every meeting so that we can have mock debates during the next meeting. And don't even get me started on my assignments!

Oh yeah and there's sports… well, outdoor activities. I went whitewater kayaking last weekend with my collegemates and I can't wait for the next outing! I love stuff like this.

So yeah, almost absolutely no free time _right now_. But hopefully— keep your fingers crossed— I'll write some new stuff by next week.

I say that because I've got a test coming up, debates, assignments galore, a few presentations and other stuff. My week basically consists of me eating, [barely any] sleeping, going to class, studying and doing my work. Every time I try to sit down and continue with the next chapter, someone taps me on the shoulder and says we've got a meeting, or extra class, or _something_. So, again, I apologise that I've not updated in a really long time. I _promise_ I'll update soon.

Really. I'd pinky swear with every one of you guys if I could.

I've got some pretty cool stuff lined up for this story so please bear with me! :-D


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